


His Hands Were Warm

by tiraaide



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Keith has fire powers, M/M, Slow Burn, and he struggles, lance will struggle too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-02-24 01:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 85,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13202451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiraaide/pseuds/tiraaide
Summary: Lance is warm. Everything about him is warm—from his hands to his smile to his personality. Keith compares it to the feeling of bundling up in a scarf on a cold winter’s morning, or gloved hands resting on cold cheeks. Lance’s warmth is comforting; calming.Keith’s warmth isn’t really warm at all. It’s hot and explosive, yet passionate all the same. It’s blazing and could set a whole forest alight, engulfing everything in its intense flames. Keith’s warmth is searing; he burns everything he touches. He hopes he doesn’t burn Lance, too.Or: Keith is on a desperate quest to reclaim who he once was. Lance loses himself along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

“There’s no sight of him over here. He might be heading towards the west. Keep an eye out. Over.”

The tree’s bark feels rough under Keith’s fingers as he shifts around to get a better view of the guard. He hasn’t been spotted yet, but he has to tread carefully. If he’s noticed, then the guard might give away his location to the others, and he can’t afford for that to happen. Not when he’s this close to freedom.

As the guard begins to move away, Keith stands up as slowly and quietly as he can. He freezes, fingers turning white as his grip on the bark tightens, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

The guard pauses for a moment, his hands stretching up as he yawns.

This is it. This is his chance.

Keith’s right hand glows, fire springing to life at his command, burning strongly at the centre of his palm, flickering gently at his fingertips. He charges as fast as he can toward the guard and with a soft grunt he reaches out and yanks the guard backward.

The guard yelps, trying to spin around. Keith is quick to grab his wrist and twist it around his back before shoving the guard to the ground. Keith presses his knees right on the guard’s back, pushing down hard.

“If you don’t resist,” Keith says, “It won’t hurt. Much.”

The guard struggles against him, straining to get free. “Let me go!”

The fear in his voice; the tremor in his body—it all gives Keith a sick, twisted sense of bliss; a bliss fuelled by rage.

“Quiet,” Keith tells him. His left hand—now also alight with flames—glows brightly against the guard's face.

The guard’s screams are muffled as Keith places his hand over the guard’s mouth. He’s struggling more now, but Keith’s hold is firm. He pulls the guard up a bit, before grabbing him in a firm chokehold. Keith counts down in his head—3…2…1…—and when he steps back, the guard drops to the ground, unconscious.

 As Keith steps around him, he sees the burn marks on the guard’s face. Perhaps, he thinks as he walks away, he’s being unnecessarily cruel. But the thought is diminished the instant he thinks it; he's too angry to feel even a shred of sympathy at the moment. Those guards from the Institute deserve every bit of suffering Keith hands to them; they deserve every scrap of revenge Keith serves to them with burning hands on a silver platter. He extinguishes the flames in his hands and makes his way back into the forest. Whoever said that revenge is a dish best served cold is wrong. Rather, it’s a dish served excruciatingly hot—Keith’s burning hands are proof of that.

* * *

Keith isn’t sure how long he’s been running, but he does know that he won’t be able to last much longer. There are two guards chasing him right now, he can barely breathe, and he’s bleeding from a gash on his stomach. It isn’t looking good for him, but he can’t give up. Not now.

He needs to get rid of these guards. So far, he’s only been knocking guards out, but these ones are particularly persistent. If push comes to shove, Keith might need to eliminate them. He doesn’t really like the idea, but he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Keith runs toward a large tree and jumps up to grab the closest branch. His movements are a bit too rushed to be smooth, but he manages to haul himself up until he’s crouched on the branch.

“This way!” One of the guards shouts. “He’s around here somewhere!”

Keith watches, wide-eyed, as the guards approach the tree, circling it, poised and ready for attack. One of them pauses right below Keith’s position.

Keith jumps down, feet colliding solidly with the guard’s head. The guard is out immediately, but Keith has no time to check if he’s dead or not because the other guard is quickly rushing around to see what’s happening.

“Hey!” he calls. “What’s going—”

Keith doesn’t give him time to finish his sentence. He punches the guard right in the face, and then quickly follows with a kick. The guard curses, before swinging his fists around, trying to land a punch.

_Slow_ , Keith thinks as he dodges to the right. The guard swings again, and this time he lands a hit. Keith doesn’t even flinch. His gaze darkens.

_Weak._

The guard cries out as Keith grabs him by the neck and slams him into the trunk of a nearby tree. He’s bleeding profusely, but he’s still alive. Keith scowls and slams the guard's face into the tree again and again, until his screams finally stop.

He winces when he finally steps back, and wipes his bloody hand on his shirt. With a sigh, Keith turns around, about to continue on, when there’s a sharp, sudden stinging pain on the back of his head. Keith loses control of his footing, his right ankle twisting painfully as he tumbles to the ground. Then there’s a weight on him, pushing him down until his face meets the ground and he tastes the dirt. His breaths come out in short, heavy puffs.

“I’ve got him,” he hears a voice say from above him. “I’ll bring him in now.”

Another guard.

“Huh?” the guard continues talking into his headset. “No, but if he keeps resisting I’ll have to— _shit, keep still”_ —he pushes Keith’s face further into the dirt, muffling Keith’s shouts— “sorry about that. Yeah, I might have to sedate him.”

Keith’s whole body tenses at that. He hears the sound of rustling—fabric against fabric—and he knows the guard is looking for the sedative.

Perhaps it’s the raw, unadulterated rage. Or perhaps it’s the combination of adrenaline and sheer panic. But Keith fights through the ringing in his ears and the thrumming in his skull, and with a vicious shout he plants his hands down on the ground and pushes up as hard as he can.

“Hey!” the guard snaps. “Stay down!”

Keith takes a deep breath, digs deep down inside, and all at once the flames engulf him.

The guard screams in pain and releases his grip. Keith uses this chance to roll over onto his back and kicks the guard right in the temple with all of his remaining strength.

Then he runs. He runs as fast as he can with only the one good leg, and his numerous other injuries. His ankle throbs with each step and his legs are too shaky—too unsteady. But he won't give up now.

He can’t regulate his breathing. His heart is beating too fast. His vision is blurry and cloudy and everything it’s _not_ supposed to be. Keith finds himself having to lean on every single tree trunk he passes for support. The bark feels rougher than before.

He falls over a twig and lets out a cry. His chest heaves with each painful breath—did breathing always hurt this much?—and if he could, he’d lay here forever. He stares up at the sky when something wet falls onto his face. With a shaky hand, he wipes it away.

Rain. It’s starting to rain.

Keith swallows past the pain, and with a shaky breath he stands back up. He staggers forward, his vision fading and receding gradually. He’s meters away from the road up ahead, and he doesn’t even know where he’s going except _away_ from this cursed place. But he figures if he makes it to that road, crosses it, and then just keeps going, he’ll find his answer.

The whole world suddenly topples, but this time Keith has half the mind to brace his fall. His palms scrape along a small rock, but compared to his other injuries it’s nothing. He crawls forward slowly, his whole body swaying dangerously even though there isn’t a breeze. Finally, he feels the rough concrete beneath his hands instead of the soft grass. He’s made it to the road.

Keith looks around. It’s completely empty. He gulps, blinks, and when he opens his eyes he’s staring up at the sky.

Huh. When did he lay down?

It’s raining a lot heavier now. His whole body throbs with pain. The last thought Keith has before falling unconscious is that maybe the sky is weeping for him.

* * *

Keith wakes up to the sound of a low rumble that he can't quite place. He opens his eyes slowly and waits for his vision to clear. When it finally does, he sees that he's in a car, head resting against the window.

He jolts immediately, sitting upright. What the hell is going on? Has he been captured? Did the guards find him? Keith bites his lip and tries to come up with an escape plan, but it's hard when his goddamn heart is beating so fast.

"Oh, you're finally awake."

Keith turns rigidly to the sound of the voice. Sitting in the driver’s seat is a young man around his age. The majority of his attention is obviously directed toward the road, but his eyes flit over to Keith every once in a while. His fingers tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

"Who are you? Keith asks, despite his raspy voice. He speaks a bit louder, "Where are you taking me?"

"I'm Lance," the guy says, and he turns his gaze fully to Keith. He smiles, bright and pleasant, while Keith glares.

Unperturbed, Lance goes on. “You passed out in the middle of the road. I'm taking you to the hospital."

As ironic as it is--given his abilities-- Keith can actually feel his entire body freeze up, ice flowing in place of blood.

"No," he says. "I can't go to the hospital."

Lance blinks and chances another glance at him. "Why not?"

Keith's mind whirrs, trying to come up with a solution. Hospitals are no good. There's no doubt the Institute would have notified the police of his escape by now. All it'd take is for a doctor to recognise him and it'd be game over. And even if they don't recognise him, they'd find out how... _strange_ he is after checking him. He can't let that happen.

"None of your business," Keith hisses dangerously.

"But you're injured,” Lance says.

Keith's hands ball into fists. He needs to get out of the car.

"Hey!" Lance squawks. "What are you--? Cut that out!"

Keith grunts in frustration as he tugs at the door handle. This Lance guy must've locked the doors--no matter how hard Keith tries, the door won't budge.

"Let me out," Keith says. "I'm fine. I don't need a hospital."

"I'm sorry," Lance says carefully. "But you're seriously hurt. You need to see a doc--"

Keith's heart, apparently, is not yet beating at its fastest; he feels it thundering away in his chest at an even quicker pace. There's a sick feeling in his stomach, the panic and fear twisting his insides--spreading and spreading--until he thinks he's going to end up vomiting all over the car seat.

"Listen," his voice sounds almost desperate. "Listen, I--I promise, I don't need a doctor. Just--Let me out."

"Are you scared of hospitals or something?" Lance asks. "'Cause I get it. My sister always hides when she's sick, and--"

"Let me out."

A sigh. "I told you, you're injured--you were literally passed out on the road! There's no way I'm not taking you to the hospital."

Lance doesn't get it.

Keith's head burns. "Let me out of the car." He takes a deep breath, tries to calm down. It doesn't help. His chest burns too.

Lance turns to him, still confused. "Dude--"

Keith can't calm down. His hands start to burn.

"Let me out," he growls.

Lance lets out a strangled cry when Keith reaches toward him, hand glowing hot, and wraps it around his neck. Keith channels all of his power into his hand, feels Lance's skin burn under his touch, hears Lance wheeze and struggle to breathe and then tightens his grip. At the very back of his mind, Keith thinks it's almost comical that his breathing is almost as unsteady as Lance's, even though he isn't the one being choked to death. Lance stops the car abruptly and shakily presses the button to unlock the door.

Keith lets go of him immediately, swings the door open, and rushes outside. The rain hasn't stopped, but even with the combined sound of the rainfall and Keith's unsteady footsteps, he can still hear Lance coughing.

Back in the safety of the forest (is it actually safe? He doesn't know anymore) Keith lets himself collapse at the base of a tree. He did the right thing. Definitely. Hospitals are too dangerous for him, and Lance...Lance is too suspicious. Keith doesn't trust him, not even for a second. Lance could well be working for the Institute; a guard undercover, one of the interns, a scientist. Or perhaps he's an outsider--a complete stranger to the Institute who's in need of money and has been paid and bribed.

Right now, it is no matter. Keith doesn't regret his decision. He looks down at his left hand--still bright, still glowing--and his resolve wavers.

_He doesn't regret._

A low chuckle sounds from somewhere behind him. Keith tenses immediately, on high alert, but before he can even stand up he’s kicked roughly in the chest. He grits his teeth through the pain and looks up to see a guard looming over him. The guard grins, his left hand poised on his ear as he talks into his headset.

“Great news,” he says. “I’ve found him.”

Keith’s breaths come out in sharp pants. He’s holding onto the guard’s leg with both of his hands, trying to pry the foot off him. The guard smirks and presses down with his foot again, the heel of his boot digging into Keith’s flesh. Keith can feel a crack somewhere in his chest and figures it’s a broken rib.

“You’ve caused us some real trouble,” the guard drawls. “Real, real trouble. And for what? You thought you could escape?” The guard laughs as if it’s all a sick joke to him.

Keith’s back is flush against the tree, uncomfortably so, but he clenches his jaw and looks up at the guard all the same. He isn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him in pain—especially not these damn bastards.

“Say what you want,” Keith grits out “but I _will_ escape. It’s”—he pauses here, takes a breath—“it’s not over yet.”

The guard’s smile turns crooked. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You caused all this commotion for nothing. How many guards have you injured? Huh? Better yet… how many have you killed?”

He roughly shoves Keith to the side before picking him up by the hair. Tears prick at the corner of Keith's eyes, but he still meets the guard’s gaze defiantly. His vision wavers in and out, turning red at the corners.

“You want me to tell you what you are?” the guard continues. He squats down so that he’s face to face with Keith. He gives Keith’s hair a sharp tug. “You’re a monster.”

A cry rips from Keith’s throat, not necessarily born of pain and sadness; rather, a cry born of anger and resentment. He balls his hand into a fist, channels the last remnants of his power, and strikes the guard right in the stomach. The guard drops him and starts retching. Keith scrambles to stand up, reaching up and using a branch to haul himself to his feet. It still hurts to put any weight on his right leg, but he pushes past the pain and kicks the guard twice—once in the stomach, and then in the jaw.

Then, he runs.

“You bastard!" the guard shouts, only to be interrupted by a coughing fit. “Get back here!”

Keith is smart. He’s smart enough to escape the Institute, he’s smart enough to evade capture thus far, and he’s smart enough to know when he’s fighting a losing battle. Right now, with an injured leg, broken ribs, and his bleeding stomach wound, Keith is fighting a battle and he’s _losing_.

A chilling, paralysing fear works its way into Keith’s spine, winding its way up to his shoulder blades, coiling around his neck. His breaths come out in short, frequent pants; he’s close to hyperventilating. The guard’s footsteps sound in his ear; for every step Keith takes, the guard takes two. He’s going to be caught. It’s all over.

The world is cruel. It dangles hope and freedom right in front of Keith, makes him chase after it, lets him get a taste of it, lures him into a false sense of security. Then suddenly the hope and freedom vanish before his eyes and morph into the guards, into the scientists at the institute, into cold hands and colder smiles; white rooms and metal beds.

A screech snaps his attention back to reality. A car comes barrelling down a path off to the side, erratically running over the small bushes and shrubs in its way. Keith’s breath comes to a complete halt and he stops right in his tracks. The car looks familiar; he’s definitely seen it before. With a sinking heart, the last bit of Keith's hope vanishes. It must be a car from the Institute.

It comes to a stuttering halt right in front of him. Before he even has time to run away again, the door swings open and Keith is met with deep blue eyes and a hand extended out toward him.

“It’s me!” Lance says, his voice piercing the rain and fear and shock. Keith gapes at him, wondering if Lance is really there or if he’s seeing a mirage.

“Come on!” Lance urges. His face is completely serious, devoid of the carefree grin Keith had seen minutes ago. Lance leans forward, his fingers stretching out, trying to get to Keith.

_The world is cruel, huh?_

Without any more hesitation, Keith reaches out and grabs Lance’s hand. He barely has a foot in the car before Lance is stepping down on the accelerator, grunting as he tightens his hold on Keith and pulls him in. Lance swerves sharply to the side, driving right around the guard and barrelling down the path towards the main road. The momentum causes Keith to land awkwardly in the passenger seat, the air knocked out of his lungs at the impact.

When Keith finally manages to close the door behind him, he allows himself to lean against the seat and closes his eyes. His whole body thrums with adrenaline, but he can feel it slowly ebb away, fatigue taking its place in between his muscles and joints. He holds onto his stomach, winces at all of his wounds and breathes in sharply through his nose.

With half-lidded eyes, Keith manages to turn his head over to the side. Lance’s eyes are narrowed in concentration; his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. He murmurs something under his breath and swivels the car sharply to the right. Keith bites his lip to keep from crying out in pain, but Lance still seems to notice.

“Sorry,” he says. His eyes leave their pin-point focus on the road to look over at Keith. “It’s gonna be ok now, buddy,” Lance continues. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Although Keith can barely make out Lance’s face, there’s something in his eyes—something that goes a lot deeper than the streetlights reflecting on Lance’s irises—that makes Keith trust him. Just for this moment, Keith decides, he will trust someone. Just for this moment, in this warm car, he will allow himself to feel safe.

He swallows past the lump in his throat, rasps the words out through a clenched jaw and aching chest. “No hospitals.”

As Keith’s vision begins to dim he hears Lance’s breathless laugh. “Don’t worry. No hospitals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first time posting a fic online so pls excuse any mistakes! anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for reading!!!


	2. Chapter 2

Keith is used to waking up and not knowing where he is or what happened the day before. But the confusion is always momentary and, if he pays close enough attention, it’s easy for him to figure out what's going on. 

It all comes down to no straps or straps, a soft bed or a cold metal table, movement or constrained limbs. His bedroom or the Examination Room.

So when Keith wakes up and feels nothing on his arms and legs, he knows he’s in his room. But then he goes to roll over and something weird happens. What usually happens is that he bumps into the wall his bed is pushed up against. Instead, he falls onto the floor. That in itself is already a major concern. Keith shouldn’t be falling _off_ his bed; his bed doesn’t have a frame, it’s just a mattress thrown on the floor. Sure, there are times he _rolls_ off his bed, but it doesn’t make sense for him to fall. 

Then the pain hits him. It's starts in his stomach, a stinging pain that throbs in time with his heartbeat. He grits his teeth and curls in on himself. Then he notices that his chest hurts too.  

_What the hell happened yesterday?_

Keith fists a hand in his hair, presses a palm against his forehead. He tries to control his breaths and waits until the pain starts to subside. When it finally does, he carefully sits up and takes a look around.

He isn't in his room. He sees a sofa instead of a bed, as well as a small TV. Keith's eyes narrow in confusion and he cautiously (and slowly—his leg hurts as well) sits back on the sofa. His head swims with confusion as he tries to figure out what's going on. He's spent a long time at the Institute and he's never seen a room like this before. Maybe this is part of a simulation test?  

"Oh, you're finally awake!" 

Keith jolts at the voice. When he looks up he sees a guy standing in the doorway. Keith narrows his eyes. This guy looks familiar, but he seems too young to be one of the scientists. He could be an intern, but Keith thinks it unlikely. Interns would never be allowed to work on Keith or any other... _similar_ projects. 

"Who are you?" Keith asks, voice raspy. He clears his throat. "Where am I?" 

The guy frowns lightly. "You don't remember? My name's Lance. We met yesterday." 

Yesterday? What happened yesterday?  

Then, it all comes back. The escape, the guards, the pain, the car. 

Lance. 

"Oh," Keith mumbles. "I...remember now." 

Lance nods, stepping closer. "How're your injuries? Any better?" 

“I—I guess." 

Lance sighs in relief. "Thank god. I'm not a doctor or anything so I was kinda worried. I've never really treated any injuries like this before." 

Keith looks up at this, meeting Lance's gaze. "You treated me?" 

"Well, yeah? You said no hospitals, right?" 

Trust is something Keith is not comfortable with. For most of his life he never even knew what 'trust' meant—betrayal was all he knew. Lance could've easily taken him back to the Institute yesterday. But he didn't. He listened to what Keith told him to do and brought him—a _stranger—_ to his own apartment. Lance seems to trust Keith, but that only makes Keith feel more uneasy.  

Yesterday, in a moment of desperation, Keith had promised to trust Lance. But now that he's calmed down he sees how foolish that is. He can't trust Lance; he can't trust anyone except for Shiroand Alfor. 

"Yeah," Keith says carefully. He rolls his shirt up a bit and sees the bandages wrapped around his chest and stomach. He doesn't focus on the old scars that litter his body and pulls his shirt back down. "You did this?" he asks. "You bandaged me?" 

Lance gives a lopsided grin. "I know my bandaging job isn't the best, but I tried. I can re-do it if you want." 

Keith definitely does _not_ want that. He's still trying to figure out what motive (if any) Lance has. He doesn't gain anything from helping Keith, and no one is that selfless and trusting. Keith could attack him at any moment and Lance wouldn't stand a chance. Keith is—

Lance shifts a bit, the neckline of his hoodie moving down, revealing a hand-shaped burn mark on his neck. 

_Keith is dangerous._

Keith averts his gaze, balling his hands into fists. "No, this is fine. Thanks." 

"No problem, my man!" Lance beams. He reaches over and lightly pats Keith on the shoulder.  

The action makes Keith stiffen. 

"Are you hungry?" Lance asks, walking over to the kitchen. "You probably are. I'll make you some breakfast." 

"No," Keith blurts in a panic. "I should probably get going anyway." 

Lance stops at the doorway and turns around. "Get going? You want to leave?" 

"Yeah," Keith says. The best thing to do is to get away from this place as soon as he can. Now that he’s out of the Institute, there’s something he needs to do. He can't allow Lance to interfere, and if Lance is out to betray him, he definitely _will_ interfere. "Thanks for your help," Keith says with a nod and moves to stand. 

"You can go if you want," Lance shrugs. He pauses for a moment, biting his lip, and the action has Keith on edge. If Lance intends to keep him here, Keith will need to fight back. If Lance is really going to betray him, this would be the perfect opportunity to do it. 

With bated breath, Keith squares his jaw and prepares to run, to punch, to _fight._   

"But...do you..." Lance folds his arms over his chest and drums his fingers along his arm. "Do you have anywhere else to go?" 

The question startles him. "I do," Keith lies hastily. He doesn't have anywhere else to go, but he can figure that out once he leaves. He's been homeless before—it’d be nothing new. Besides, all he needs to do is find Shiroand everything will be ok. He won't truly be safe until then. 

Lance looks a bit relieved. "Ok, cool. Like I said, you can leave if you want but...you're still really injured. It might be better to stay here until you’re completely healed.” 

Alarms start blaring in Keith's head. This is very suspicious. It's almost as if Lance is making excuses to try and get him to stay.  

_So he can turn me in?_

"I'll be fine," Keith sneers, standing up. He sees his boots lined up with the front of the sofa and steps forward to grab them. The instant he puts weight on his left leg, he topples to the floor. Before he can get up on his own, strong arms prop him up until he's sitting back on the sofa. And Keith hates to admit it, he really does, but his chest and stomach hurt a lot more after his fall. 

Lance stays quiet as Keith goes through a mental war. His two options now are to leave or to stay. Leaving is the safer option, but his injuries would severely hinder him. How can he find Shiro like this? What if the guards end up finding him when he's out there by himself?  

If he stays here, he'll have time to heal and figure out what do to. But what if Lance plans to betray him? There could be guards on the way here right now.  

_But why would he save me if he wants to betray me?_ Keith thinks. It makes no sense. Lance could have betrayed him yesterday, but he didn't. Should Keith take this risk? Dare he trust Lance again? 

"Are...you really ok with me staying here?" 

"Of course! Don't worry about it, you're totally safe here!" 

Keith frowns at the comment; it isn't reassuring at all. "Alright. I guess I'll take up your offer." 

"Then it's settled!" Lance says. "Got any requests for breakfast? If not I'll probably just make pancakes." 

Keith blinks and shakes his head. 

Lance beams at him and walks out of sight to the kitchen. Keith can hear Lance rummage for cooking utensils and hesitantly shuffles back on the sofa in a more comfortable position. He notices a glass of water sitting on a small table next to him. He licks his dry lips but does not take the glass.  

"I just realised something," Lance shouts from the kitchen. "You never told me your name." 

"Keith. My name is Keith." 

 

* * *

 

When Keith wakes up the next day, he expects to be back in the Institute, handcuffed to the window rails in his room.  

The guard kneeling in front of him will check his handcuffs, make sure they're tight enough, and stand up so that he towers over Keith. "Nice work, kid," he'll say, but the comment would be directed toward someone standing behind him. 

"Thanks," Lance will say, stepping out from the shadows with a sinister grin. "It was way too easy. Just get their trust, make 'em think you're on their side, then dash their hopes. Piece of cake." 

Then the guard and Lance will both laugh, the spit from their mouths hitting Keith's cheek, grins sinister. 

But that doesn't happen. 

When he wakes up Lance is sitting at the dining room table, eating breakfast. He stuffs bread into his mouth hurriedly and tells Keith he'll be gone for a few hours. 

"There's some toast for you in the kitchen," he says, moving to grab his keys. "I won't be gone for long.” 

Then Lance is gone and Keith is alone. He stands, the baggy shorts Lance lent him slipping down his hips. Keith pulls them up with a huff. Lance could be on his way to tell the Institute about him, so for the next few hours, he needs to be alert. His heart rattles on in his chest, the stress and nerves making it beat like crazy. But Keith's mind needs to be as clear as possible right now; he can't let the paranoia get to him. 

He needs to find a phone. It's the only way he can get in contact with Shiro. He can't use Lance's since Lance took it with him, so he needs an alternative. He hobbles from room to room, searching for another phone, but finds nothing. He finds a few coins and realises he could probably use a payphone. But he needs to go outside for that, and he can't risk it when his mobility is so low. 

Keith leaves the change where he found it and spends the rest of the time sitting by the living room window. Since Lance lives in an apartment, the window provides ample view of the city below. Keith keeps watch from up here, looking out for anyone suspicious. But soon he ends up getting distracted and his eyes wander from person to person, watching as they go about their daily lives—their _normal_ lives. The melancholy gets to him despite his trying to stop it. He can't help it; he looks down at these normal people and he envies them. Keith clenches his fist and shakes his head. Soon he'll be normal again. Soon. 

An hour later, the dull click of the door being unlocked alerts him of Lance’s arrival. He stands immediately, braced for a fight or to push past Lance and run out the door.  

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says as he enters the apartment. He’s carrying grocery bags with both hands so he uses his foot to shut the door. Keith doesn’t move from his spot near the window. 

“Where’d you go?” he asks, trying for nonchalance but coming across as anxious. 

Lance holds up both arms, the bags he’s carrying rustle as he does so. “Grocery store. It’ll take a while until you’re healed so we need more food.” He walks over to the kitchen and sets down the bags with a grunt.  

Keith narrows his eyes. “Did you go anywhere else?” 

Lance comes back into the living room and throws his keys onto the sofa. He gives Keith an odd look. “No. Just the grocery store.” 

Keith nods his head, mind whirring. Now Lance is buying food for him too? He can’t figure him out. Not at all. 

The day passes by slowly and Keith isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. He’s paranoid for the entire afternoon, just waiting for a crew of guards to burst through the front door and take him away. At night he can’t sleep, instead opting to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious lurking outside. 

In the morning Lance tells him he looks tired, and Keith realises he can’t go on like this. When he’s tired his body won’t heal as fast, which means he’ll be stuck with Lance even longer than he’s supposed to be. And he still has no idea how to find Shiro. 

He needs to remain calm. He’ll be ok.

 

* * *

 

Keith is not ok. Days have passed and while his body is healing, his mind certainly isn’t.  

Living with Lance is…fine. It’s fine. Keith is fed and has easy access to a bathroom. He can sleep whenever he wants to, he can do whatever he wants to; he’s safe. 

And that is the problem. Keith is safe. He’s safe now, but how long will it last? How long will this mirage remain true? 

His mind is like a wire and Lance is pulling it on both ends, further and further apart until one day Keith is going to snap. Right now the wire is stretched taut, right at its limit. But soon…soon the wire will snap, and Keith might not have the restraint to hold it together. 

It’s been a week since he’s escaped from the Institute. A week of questions with no answers, of caution and paranoia, of trying to decipher the enigma that is Lance. Keith is sick and tired of living like this. He wants to know for once and for all if Lance is an enemy or an ally. 

Lance has been gone for the whole day. Keith had been ok with this until he’d noticed a sleek black car park itself outside. A lot of the guards at the Institute drove black cars. 

_This is it,_ he thinks bitterly. _This is what I get for trusting a stranger._  

“I’m back,” Lance calls as he opens the door.  

As the door slams shut, Keith feels the wire snap. Rage curls in his stomach, seeps into his pores, takes control of his mind.  

“What did you do?” he says lowly. 

Lance pauses at the doorway, blinking owlishly. “What?” 

“What did you do?” Keith roars, letting all his pent-up anger and fear out. He strides forward and grabs Lance firmly by the collar.  

“Keith, what are you talking about?” Lance protests, eyebrows furrowed. He tries to pull back a little. 

Keith steps closer until he can feel Lance’s startled breaths fan out on his face. “You told them, didn’t you?” His hands shake as he tightens his hold on Lance’s shirt.  

“Seriously, I have no idea what you’re—” 

“You told them I was here! You betrayed me and I—God, I _knew_ I couldn’t trust you!" 

“Betray you? Told them? Who’s ‘them’?” 

With a vicious growl, Keith slams Lance against the door. There’s a hollow _thud_ as the back of Lance’s head hits the door, but Keith pays that no mind. He stares at Lance right in the eyes, trying to decipher truth from lie.  

“The night we met,” Keith begins, voice low. “I was running away, Lance. I was escaping from the Institute. Did you know that?” 

Lance, with his wide-eyed stare and gaping mouth, almost looks scared. “I mean, I kind of figured something was going—ow!” 

Keith breathes deeply, pushing harder on Lance. “Are you working for that place? For the Institute?” 

“No! Of course not!” 

“So, I can trust you? You won’t sell me out to them?” 

And then Lance’s eyes do something weird. He stops struggling against Keith, trying to break free, and instead goes limp. Malleable. His eyes are gentle.

“Why would I do that?” he whispers. 

“You tell me,” Keith persists. “The Institute usually pays snitches. I don’t know how much, but—” 

“Keith,” Lance’s voice is quiet. “Look around.” 

Keith draws back for the briefest moment. “What?” 

Despite the absurdity of the situation, despite the fact that he is being held against a door by a man that could easily kill him, despite it all, Lance smiles.  

“My apartment,” Lance clarifies. “It’s small, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Keith says. “So what?” 

The corner of Lance’s mouth curls up a bit and he rolls his eyes, as if annoyed. “Keith, I’m not rich. I’m a broke college student that still gets money from his parents. I buy our food at the cheapest store I can find. You sleep on a sofa that is ten years old.” 

“What are you saying?” Keith snaps. 

He doesn't realise his grip on Lance is loosening until his hands are slowly being pried away. He doesn’t even have the energy to fight back.  

“I need money, Keith. Don’t you think if I was going to sell you out that I would’ve already done it? You’ve been with me for a week. I’ve had plenty of time to do it." 

“Yeah, but—but—you’re so nice. It…doesn’t make sense. It’s like we’re playing mind games.” 

Lance blinks at him. “I’m nice…and that upsets you?” 

“It does!” Keith shouts. “I’m trying to figure out what your agenda is. You have nothing to gain from helping me. So why are you?” 

“You were passed out on the road. You were injured and a guy was chasing after you. I knew something was wrong. I knew I needed to help.” 

Keith steps back. He feels as if someone has thrown cold ice on him. The revelation is shocking. All this time…Lance really has been on his side. All this time, he’d been preparing to hurt Lance—to _attack_ him—but Lance was just trying to help. 

“Listen,” Lance says, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for scaring you and making you feel unsafe.”  

“Ok,” Keith says, breathless. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, but it remains lodged there.  

Lance shakes his head. “No, seriously. I _am_ sorry. And Keith”—he places his other hand on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith can only stare at him, eyes pleading to let him go—“you can trust me.” 

“What?” 

Lance’s grip on Keith’s shoulders tightens. “You can trust me. I promise. And even if you’re still skeptical, I’ll earn your trust. Somehow.” He grins, wide and lopsided, eyes sparkling and welcoming. 

It knocks the air out of Keith’s lungs harder than any punch or kick ever has.  

 

* * *

 

“Here you go,” Lance says, placing a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Keith.  

Keith nods in thanks and picks up his fork, loosely twirling it around his fingers. 

Mornings always play out in the same way. Lance makes breakfast, they eat together (usually in silence but sometimes Lance will complain about the weather or his college assignments), and then Lance will get on with his day while Keith stays at home. His leg is better now, but his ribs haven’t healed completely and the wound on his stomach is still tender. The instant he’s 100% better, he will go out into the world to find Shiro and leave Lance to resume his normal life. 

“You sure you don’t want anything else to drink?” 

Keith looks over at his glass of water. It’s almost empty. “No. It’s fine.” 

“Really?” Lance stands up to refill his coffee.  

Keith meets his eyes for a moment but looks away almost immediately. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.” 

Lance sits back down and resumes eating. Keith takes a sip of his water, hoping it will subdue this horrible feeling in his stomach. Perhaps his injuries are making him sick—it could be a stomach bug. But the longer he stares at Lance, the worse the feeling gets. 

Guilt. 

If Lance knew what kind of a monster Keith really was, he would throw him out and barricade the door. If Lance knew about the horrible thoughts that crossed Keith’s mind— thoughts of hurting Lance to prevent being betrayed—he wouldn’t treat Keith this way, as if he were normal. If Lance knew how much danger being associated with Keith would put him in, if he knew that helping Keith equates to his own doom, he would have driven right past Keith’s unconscious form on the road that night. The worst thing is that Lance has already been hurt—the faint handprint on his neck is proof.  

The feeling in his stomach spikes again and he sighs as he gently wraps his arms around himself.  

“Do you want a painkiller?”  

Lance offers him painkillers every day, but Keith never takes any. Even when the pain was so bad that he spent the day curled up in a ball trying to sleep, he never took any, afraid of being poisoned. He’s still a bit wary—old habits are hard to break, after all—but that’s not the only thing keeping him from taking a tablet. Lance’s gaze is just…too kind. It’s too earnest. It feels wrong for Keith to take anything from Lance, no matter how small.

“No.” 

Lance narrows his eyes and Keith can almost see the gears in his head turning. “Alright, but…you know, they’re going to expire soon.”

“Huh?”

Lance nods. “Yep. In a few days they’ll be useless. If I don't use them all now, they’ll just go to waste. So you might as well take them.”

Keith bites down on his lip. He feels as if he’s stuck in a stalemate. “Fine,” he says eventually. 

With a smile, Lance hands the packet over. Keith nods in thanks, taking a painkiller and swallowing it with some water, hoping it’ll get rid of the feeling in his stomach, but knowing deep down that it won’t.

 

* * *

 

Keith stands in the shower, idly watching the water run down the drain. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’s always felt safest when he’s around water. It’s his natural opposite; the only thing that can control him—stop him.  

When he was still in the Institute the scientists made him train every day, but here with Lance he hasn’t been training at all. He doesn’t want to lose control and burn Lance’s apartment down. Or, even worse, to hurt Lance. Again. 

He holds his hand out and searches deep inside of him for the familiar tug of power that lies within. He can feel it, wild yet restrained, and gently lets it go. A small flame appears in the palm of his hand, dancing in time with the sound of the water hitting the tiled floor. Keith stares at it, half mesmerised and half sick, before moving his hand under the stream of water. The flame extinguishes with a low hiss.  

Now Keith holds both hands out, channeling forth a much larger flame. He breathes low and deep, closing his eyes, and brings both hands under the water. He can feel the flame start to extinguish, but he keeps searching for that inner power, that inner monster, that’ll keep the flame aglow. He opens his eyes slowly, almost scared to see his own strength, and sighs shakily. The flame is still there, weak and small, but it’s there in the palm of his hands. He grunts and sends a burst of fire up until the flame stands strong in the water. It’s unnatural, Keith thinks. Everything about him is unnatural. 

His hands drop to his sides, limp and tired. He shuts off the water and carefully steps out of the shower. Steam pools around him, fogging up the mirror. Keith wipes it away, relishing the cool touch of the mirror against his warm skin. He dries quickly but doesn’t bother much with his hair, leaving it slightly damp to air dry. Then he gets dressed but, for the moment, doesn’t put on a shirt. 

There’s an assortment of ointments and creams next to the sink. Most of them are Lance’s face creams and moisturisers, but a few are creams that Keith uses to ease the bruising and swelling of his wounds.  

He eyes his stomach and chest in the mirror. His wounds are a lot better now and it doesn’t hurt as much to do simple things like walk or stretch or breathe. He takes a jar of a sports gel Lance claimed was good for injuries and rubs it gently on his wounds. It always stings a bit at first, but the pain is manageable. Then he grabs a roll of bandages and begins the arduous process of wrapping his chest and stomach. 

“Keith?” Lance calls, knocking lightly on the door. “You in there?” 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “I’ll be out soon.” 

“Can I come in?” Lance asks. 

Keith doesn’t even get to reply; Lance opens the door and steps inside. He doesn’t bother closing it, instead leaving it open to let the steam out. 

Keith looks away from the poor job of bandaging he’s doing so he can glare at Lance. “I didn’t say you could enter.” 

Lance shrugs, grinning slyly. He nods over at Keith. “Need some help?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. That’s all you ever say. Let me help you out for once.” 

Keith bites his lip and looks back at his own reflection. Lance has already helped him more than enough. He doesn’t need to help anymore; Keith doesn’t deserve it.  

Lance stands directly behind Keith, taking the bandages for himself and slowly securing them around Keith’s chest, straightening up the sections Keith had wrapped up crookedly. “You see?” he whispers, and Keith tries not to shiver as Lance’s breath hits the back of his neck. “I think I’ve gotten a lot better at it now.” 

Keith swallows. “You’ve been practising?” 

Lance lets out a low chuckle. “Maybe.” 

Then, there’s silence. Lance works quietly, motions slow and deliberate. “You seem…” 

“Huh?” Keith asks. 

“It looks like you’ve gotten better.” Keith can see Lance’s reflection smile. “I’m glad.” 

They don’t say it, but both know what is being left unsaid. Keith will need to leave soon. 

“It’s thanks to you,” Keith says. “I-uh…wouldn’t have gotten better without your help. So, thanks.” 

“I think I should try for a career change,” Lance boasts, his usual confidence shining through. “Being a doctor would suit me. I’d heal everyone with my handsome looks.”  

Keith can’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You’d be a great doctor.” 

Lance’s motions are methodical and rhythmic, so when he stops suddenly, Keith is confused. He’s about to ask if something’s wrong when he feels Lance’s fingers gently ghost over his back, tracing a path from his left shoulder blade down to his spine. He doesn’t manage to suppress a shiver. 

Lance looks up, his gaze meeting Keith’s in the mirror. “What happened?" 

Keith ignores him. “Nothing.” He bites his lip when Lance traces another path; one much smaller than the last. 

“How’d you get these scars?” 

“You don’t want to know.” 

“But—” 

“I can’t tell you,” Keith says firmly. 

Although Lance doesn’t physically take a step back, when he removes his hand Keith feels as if they’re miles and miles apart.  

“Ok,” Lance says. “Sorry for prying. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” 

The guilt in Keith’s stomach starts whirling around and around. “It’s not that,” he all but growls, voice desperate. “There are some things you can’t know about me. For your own safety.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Keith balls his hands into fists. The guilt only gets worse. “I’m dangerous, Lance. You’re already putting yourself in danger by letting me stay with you. The less you know about me, the safer you’ll be.” 

Lance looks confused. “Danger? Like, those bad guys that are after you will come after me, too?” 

They don’t talk about it ever since Keith’s outburst, treating it like a forbidden topic. It feels wrong to hear Lance say those words. 

“Yes,” Keith says uneasily. “But it’s not just them. It’s—It’s also—” 

_Me._

_I am a monster._

“I appreciate the concern, buddy, I really do. But I can take care of myself.” 

Keith shakes his head and turns around. Lance has helped him and kept him safe. Keith owes him that much. He should be able to keep Lance safe in return. 

“Just listen to me, ok?” he meets Lance’s eyes, something he hates doing because Lance is so open and genuine, so kind and _normal, he shouldn’t have to look at a monster like me._ “If they find me now, then they'll find you too. And if that happens...I might not be able to—I don't know if I can—” 

_Protect you._

"Calm down," Lance says. "Everything will be ok. Don't worry about me, worry about yourself. They won't find you here." 

Keith doesn't want to keep looking at Lance but he can't tear his gaze away. God, he wants to trust him. He wants to trust that everything really will be ok, wants to close his eyes at night and believe he won't need to worry about his own safety or Lance's safety anymore. 

"Ok," he whispers, voice sounding weak even to his own ears. 

Lance gives him one final reassuring smile and then he's patting his shoulder and walking out. Perhaps Lance doesn't even know he's doing it, but as he leaves his hand comes up to his neck, directly over the burn mark that Keith left on him. 

Keith watches him go with remorseful eyes. 

 

* * *

 

It's said that good things don't last forever and Lance, unfortunately, is a good thing. Keith can't keep doing this to him. He can't selfishly stay with Lance just because it's convenient or safe. The best thing for him is to keep moving. If he stays at one spot for too long it'd be easier for the guards to find him; to find Lance. Besides, there's something he has to do, and he needs to do it on his own.  

He lays on the sofa, eyes shut tight, and listens until he hears Lance snoring in his room. Then he stands up, shoving his boots on and making his way to the front door. He hasn't gone outside since he first came here so he expects to feel anxious. But he doesn't. Sure, he feels a bit nervous, but this is for the best.  

It's time to leave and find Shiro. 

He opens the door slowly until the gap is large enough for him to slip through. Then he shuts it as gently as he can, trying to be as quiet as possible. When the door closes, he’s filled with a sense of finality that leaves him shaking. This is really it. His journey is finally starting. He's on his way to being normal again. 

His footsteps are cautious down the hallway.  He doesn't meet anyone on his way out but he remains alert, eyes darting from side to side, ears strained to hear anything out of the ordinary.  

He sighs in relief when he finally makes it outside. He knows that it's cold—the few people walking around are all bundled up in thick coats and scarves—but he doesn't feel it. He misses it; the prick of icy wind as it slices across his skin, the stinging as he breathes in the cold air. He hasn't felt that in a long time. 

He pulls his hoodie up a bit, burying his hands in the pockets, feeling for the coins that he took from under Lance’s bed when he was home alone. He feels bad for stealing Lance's clothes and money, but he doesn't have much of a choice. Maybe when he gets cured he'll come back to repay Lance for all he's done. It'd be nice to see Lance again.  

He stops at a pay phone and takes out the coins. They gleam in the palm of his hand, the streetlights shining down on their rusty surface. He inserts a few of them into the coin slot and picks up the phone. Then, he starts to dial. 

He has Shiro's number memorised. On nights where he felt particularly hopeless—particularly powerless—this number was the only thing that gave him hope. He presses each digit carefully, mumbling under his breath as he goes along. When he's done he brings the receiver up to his ear and listens to the phone ring. 

It'll be ok. Shiro will answer and they'll figure this all out. Keith will be ok. Shiro will help him.  

The phone keeps ringing. He bites his lip, shifting from foot to foot.  

"Come on, Shiro," he mutters. "Come on." 

The phone stops ringing and he hears a resounding _click._ He pauses, sweat beading on his forehead. 

_“We're sorry, the number you have dialled is unavailable—”_

No. It can't be. It's not supposed to go like this.  

Keith blinks and dials again. The phone rings and rings but the same thing happens. 

_Click._

_“We're sorry, the number you have—”_

 Maybe he got one of the digits wrong? No, that's not possible. His memory is too good for that to happen. There's nothing to worry about. Shiro will answer. He has to.  

_He has to._

_“We're sorry, the number you—”_

Maybe he needs to put in more money? That could be it.  

_“We're sorry—”_

His fingers are shaking too hard for him to dial properly. That's the problem. It's ok, he's calm now. He can do it. Shiro will answer. 

_“We're sorry—”_

Maybe—

_“We're sorry—”_

The phone falls from Keith's hands and swings back and forth, back and forth; a pendulum of despair. Keith stares at it, body shaking violently, trying to find something to ground himself. 

Shiro didn't answer. His plan...his plan is ruined.  

Then he's suffocating. The walls of the phone booth close in on him from all sides. Keith's knees give out and he falls to the floor. He tells himself he needs to breathe but he can't do it. His lungs won't listen to his instructions, they won't _listen—_

He needs to get out of here. He stands up, leaning against the wall for support, and staggers out of the phone booth.  

The desperation, the fear, the panic—it all surges forward at once. He's never felt so alone; so vulnerable. So scared. And suddenly he realises just how small and insignificant he is in the middle of this bustling city.  

He crosses the street as fast as he can, body moving on autopilot. Millions of thoughts swirl around in his mind, but Keith ignores them in favour of acting on pure instinct alone. He runs and runs until he forgets who he is running from and why he’s running in the first place. He runs to find meaning. He runs to try to reclaim something, even though he doesn’t know what that _something_ is.  

He stops when he reaches a door. He opens it without much thought, hurriedly stepping inside. The door slams shut and he doesn’t even have half the mind to wince at the loud noise. Instead, he falls back against it and tries to regain control of his breath.  

And then he remembers why he runs—the instant he stops, all the thoughts come back. 

The panic returns and Keith grips onto his chest, face scrunched in pain. His knees give out and he slides down until he’s sitting on the floor. 

“Keith?” 

Lance stands a few paces away, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t bother turning the light on—the moon and streetlights provide ample light already—and walks forward slowly while stifling a yawn. From his huddled position on the floor, Keith can only see the stupid fuzzy cat slippers Lance likes to wear. 

“Did you go outside?” Lance asks. He pauses for a moment and then says, voice quiet, “Were you leaving?” 

Keith tries to talk. “I—I was. I was leaving. But Shiro won’t answer. I can’t—He won’t—” He pauses there and shakes his head. 

“Ok,” Lance says slowly, crouching down in front of him. “Shiro is your friend? You want to stay with him?” 

Keith can’t answer anymore. He doesn't _want_ to answer.  

"Keith," Lance says again. "Talk to me." 

"He promised he'd help me," Keith grits out. "Shiro promised he would help me. But now I can't contact him. He won't answer the phone." 

Lance stays quiet, processing the information. "So, you don't know where he is? You can't find him?" 

Keith shakes his head. "I don't know where he is. I don't know what to do." 

Lance lets out a breath. "I'll help you." 

Keith looks up. "What?" 

"I'll help you find him." 

Keith's shaking his head before Lance even finishes talking. "You can't get involved. It's too dangerous." 

Lance waves a hand dismissively. "Keith, seriously, stop being so paranoid. Nothing bad is going to happen. We'll find your friend." 

Keith should say no. He should say no and leave and walk out of here. Even though he has nowhere to go, he should leave and figure something out on his own. But...maybe he's sick of being alone. 

"So..." he looks away from Lance. "I can keep staying here?" 

Lance's gaze softens. "Of course. For as long as you want." 

"Alright," Keith whispers. "Thank you." 

Lance stands up swiftly, holding out both hands for Keith to take. Keith looks at them for a second before grabbing them and allowing Lance to pull him up. 

"Stop worrying," Lance says with a smile, slinging an arm around Keith's shoulders. "We'll find Shiro." 

And in that moment, Keith believes him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some trouble with this chapter, so I'm relieved that it's finally done. I hope you guys enjoyed it! and thanks for the support so far :D


	3. Chapter 3

Keith watches the rain fall outside, cheek resting on the palm of his hand. He can hear the hustle and bustle of the cars below and still can’t get his mind around the fact that just a few hours ago he was out there, lost and confused in the lonely city.  

Lance sits in front of him, rubbing his tired eyes and yawning into the sleeve of his shirt. He takes a long sip of his coffee and Keith’s nose wrinkles at the strong smell. 

“So,” Lance says, leaning forward. “Got any ideas on how we’ll find Shiro?” 

Keith furrows his brows and tightens his grip on his cup of water. “I was hoping you’d have one.” 

“Well…I’d call him, but you’ve already done that.” 

Keith sighs and slumps back in his seat.  

“What’s his number?” Lance asks. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and places it down on the table. “I’ll try calling him again.” 

Keith eyes the phone warily. “I don’t think you should.” 

“What?” Lance straightens up a bit, lips pulled down in a frown. “Why not?” 

“The Institute. They might be able to track you down if you use your phone to call Shiro.” 

The table vibrates as Lance’s phone buzzes with a new notification. He ignores it, gaze fixed solely on Keith. “I really don’t think they’ll go that far.” 

“They would!” Keith insists, fists slamming on the table. One of Lance’s pens starts rolling to the edge, but Lance calmly picks it up and slides it over to Keith.  

“Write down Shiro’s number,” he says, nodding toward some scattered papers. “I’m gonna call him.” 

“I won’t let you,” Keith hisses. “You’re going to put us both in danger.” 

Lance groans. “Seriously, Keith, I understand why you’re so paranoid, but there’s no reason to—” 

“You don’t understand,” Keith says. “If these guys were good people I wouldn’t have escaped from them.” 

Lance stays silent for a moment. Then, “Listen…you’re going to need to help me out, ‘cause I’m starting to get really confused.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Lance looks down at the table top, as if the stains and scratches marring it have his full, undivided attention. “I mean that…you need to tell me the truth. You need to tell me who Shiro is and why you need to find him. You need to tell me who these guys that are chasing you are and what this ‘Institute’ place is.” Lance lifts his head, his blue eyes piercing Keith’s. “Who _are_ you, Keith?” 

“I told you already,” Keith says shakily. “The less you know about me, the better you’ll—” 

“Yeah,” Lance interrupts. “I get that. And I don’t care. I want to know about you. I _need_ to know. Otherwise, I can’t help you." 

The rain seems to be heavier now. Keith looks past Lance and stares out the window, watching the rain as it falls, trying to figure out what he should do.  

Trust has never come easy to him. At the Institute, he only trusted two people: Shiro and Dr. Alfor. It's thanks to them that Keith is here—free, unharmed, unchained. It took months for Keith to put his faith in them, but ever since they proved they were on his side his loyalty has not wavered. For him it's always been like that: black and white, zero or a hundred. All or nothing.

Keith has only known Lance for a few weeks, and yet...he trusts him? It doesn't make sense. What is it that Lance has that makes Keith trust him so easily? His kindness? His concern? The fact that he promised not to betray him? 

He's not sure, and he knows it's a bit of a gamble. Keith felt like this the first time he chose to trust Shiro and Alfor. And then he realises what it is. Keith has always _wanted_ to trust. He doesn't like being wary and paranoid. He wanted to believe Shiro and Alfor when they told them they'd save him, and he wants to believe Lance when he says he can help. Keith wants to trust him—wants to trust Lance the same way Lance trusts him. And to do that, he needs to be honest and open. 

"Fine," Keith relents, sighing. "I'll tell you."

Lance seems oddly proud.

"But," Keith raises a finger. "You can't tell anyone else. It's bad enough I'm telling you."

Lance chuckles. "My lips are sealed. I promise."

Keith can feel a headache coming on. "God... I don't even know where to start..."

"At the beginning?" 

Keith rolls his eyes. "Fine," he repeats. "Have you ever heard of the Galra Institute?"

Lance's brows scrunch up. "Uh...it sounds familiar...Oh!" he lightly hits his fist on the table. "It's a special school for delinquents, or something. Right?”

Keith smiles wryly. "Troubled youth," he corrects. "It's a place where they send orphans that have behavioural problems and disciplinary issues." 

"So, you were sent there?"

"Yeah. I was."

Keith waits to see his reaction, but Lance's face remains calm and impassive. He doesn't urge Keith to give him more details, he doesn't ask Keith to hurry up. He just sits and waits.

"They couldn't fix me," Keith continues. "I was always so angry and...they just couldn't fix me. So they took me and a bunch of the other worst behaved kids, and they turned us into their projects."

At this Lance's eyes grow wide. "Projects?" 

Keith nods. "On the surface, the Galra Institute is a 'school' for troubled children." He pauses here and smiles—crooked and bitter. "But it's actually a research facility." 

Lance opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, as if he’s trying to figure out what to say but can’t find the right words.

"They experimented on us," Keith says, voice a whisper. And it feels so weird to acknowledge it—so gross and so  _wrong—_ because even thinking about it is too painful sometimes.  

Lance drops the impassive facade and allows his emotions to shine through. His jaw is set tightly and there's a seriousness in his eyes that doesn't belong on someone as carefree as him.  

Keith breathes in shakily and holds his hands out. Two flames sit on each palm, glowing eerily under the dim lights. "Look," he says, ignoring the fact that his voice is breaking. "This is what they did to me." 

He can't see any emotion reflected in Lance's eyes anymore; all he can see is dangerous orange burning in front of gentle blue. 

"Oh, God…” Lance whispers. His hand winds up his chest until his fingers ghost over his neck; over the mark that is probably still there. "I thought I was imagining things that night. I mean—I was so confused and—whoa. This is crazy." 

Keith balls his hands into fists and the flames extinguish, smoke rising up from the cracks between his fingers. "I know," he says. "They gave me these weird fire powers. They turned me into something that isn't even human anymore." He tightens his fists until he can feel his nails poking his palms. "That's why I escaped. I want to be normal again. I want to be _human_ again."  

"Why'd they do it?" Lance asks. "Why did they...experiment on you?" 

"I don't know," Keith says. "Part of me doesn't want to know." 

"I'm sorry," Lance says. "I made you talk about something really painful, and—” 

"It's fine," Keith says. He lets out a sigh. "If you're going to get involved in this mess, then you deserve to know." 

Lance bites down on his lower lip, gaze thoughtful. "I'm guessing that Shiro has the cure? That's why you need to see him, isn't it?" 

"I don't know," Keith runs a hand over his face. "He might have the cure, he might not have the cure." He shrugs. "But if he doesn't have it, he can easily find it." 

"Really?" Lance's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Is Shiro a really wealthy businessman, or something? You know, the kind of guy with a lot of power and influence? He isn't part of the mafia, is he?" 

Keith does not look impressed. His eyes narrow in an irritated glare. "No. That's not how he's going to get it. He's friends with the doctor that was in charge of me, and that doctor is developing a cure." 

"Ok," Lance says slowly. "I'm just getting more confused now. How does Shiro even know a doctor who worked at that Galra Institute place? How do _you_ even know Shiro? Did the guards just let you”—Lance waves his arms around—“wander around outside every once in a while?" 

Keith's left eye starts to twitch in annoyance. "No, Shiro _was_ a guard. That's how I know him." 

"And...you trust him? What if he's after you? If he's working for the Institute, then—”

"Shiro doesn't work there anymore. He quit." 

"Well, to me he sounds a bit suspicious but..." Lance pauses, smile crooked. "If you say he's trustworthy, then he must be." 

"I trust Shiro. He was always against what they were doing to me at the Institute. Dr. Alfor was the same—that’s why he promised he'd cure me." 

Keith stares down at the table, an odd feeling of emptiness replacing the fury he felt a moment ago. Lance is the first outsider to ever hear his tragic story, and despite the slight feeling of relief it provides, he can’t shake the ever-looming dread that’s shackled him.  

He hears an ear-piercing screech as Lance gets out of his chair, followed by light footsteps as Lance walks away. Lance returns a few moments later, this time pulling his chair forward until he’s sitting next to Keith. 

“Alright,” Lance says, placing his laptop down on the table and turning it on. He shoots a confident grin in Keith’s direction. “Let’s find Shiro.” 

 

* * *

 

Keith stares at the laptop screen in confusion, eyes squinting as he reads the tiny font. He’s not used to using computers, but he has seen them before at the Institute. He tentatively reaches out and presses the spacebar. The whole webpage shifts down a bit, and Keith pulls back immediately lest he breaks something. 

Behind him, Lance paces up and down the hallway, phone glued to his ear. Despite Keith’s warning, he still insisted to try and call Shiro himself.  Eventually, Lance sighs and sits back down next to him. 

“Any luck?” Keith asks, trying to keep the I-told-you-so tone from his voice. 

“No,” Lance murmurs.  

A beat of silence. 

“I told you it wouldn't work,” Keith says despite himself, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I had to try! You’ve probably never even used a phone, I thought maybe you made a mistake!” 

Keith huffs, exasperated. “Well, it can’t be that hard since you use one!” 

Lance narrows his eyes. “Let’s just get back to the search.” 

“Fine.” 

Lance works in silence, typing and clicking away at his computer while Keith watches. Lance’s plan seems pretty simple—he insists that Shiro must have some sort of social media account, so he plans to search the web until he finds a trace of Shiro. 

“You’re sure his full name is Takashi Shirokane, right?” 

“Shiro _ga_ ne,” Keith corrects. 

Lance stops typing. “Isn’t that what I said?” 

“No.” 

Lance furrows his brows, lips puckering as he thinks. “You know what, it’s better if you just write his name down for me.” 

Keith sighs but relents, taking the pen and paper Lance shoves toward him and writing out Shiro’s full name as neatly as possible. 

Lance alternates between looking at the paper and looking at his screen, quietly saying each letter to himself as he meticulously types Shiro’s name in the search bar of a (supposedly) very popular social media site. 

“Write down some other stuff as well,” Lance says as he scrolls.        

“Like what?” 

“Everything you know about him.” At Keith’s confused look, Lance elaborates some more. “Write down any facts he told you about himself.” 

“How’s that going to help?” 

Lance shrugs. “Honestly? It might not. But we’re looking for a needle in a haystack, so we need all the help we can get.” 

Keith complies with the strange request, wracking his brain for any useful things he knows about Shiro. He doubts knowing Shiro’s favourite food will help with the search, but he still writes it down anyway, simply because he can’t stand the list looking so empty.  

When Keith is done a few minutes later, Lance clicks on the first profile that appears on the list and asks Keith if it’s Shiro. 

It’s not. 

They go through six profiles (none of them are Shiro) before Keith sees an odd one. He points to the small square box where there should be a photo. “There’s no photo,” he says. “Everyone else has a picture of themselves but this person doesn’t.” 

“Yeah,” Lance bites down on his lip. “This could be a problem. We won’t know if it’s Shiro unless we see his face…” 

“Well…what do we do?” 

“I’ll send him a message,” Lance says with a nod. “I’ll ask him if he knows you.” 

“Don’t,” Keith says, grabbing hold of Lance’s arm. “Don’t do that,” he repeats. “If he really is Shiro, the Institute might be reading his messages.” 

He can see that Lance probably disagrees with that, but thankfully they don’t start to argue. 

“I’ll send him something inconspicuous…like, do the two of you have an inside joke, or something? Or a phrase you always say to each other?” 

Keith frowns as he thinks. He and Shiro weren’t exactly the _best_ of friends; it would’ve been odd for Shiro to seek out Keith’s company when Keith was on a strict schedule.  

Then it hits him. “Ask him what his favourite colour is.” 

Lance gives him an odd look. 

“That’s the first question Shiro ever asked me,” Keith explains.  

“Wow. I see you and Shiro had some insightful, thought-provoking conversations.” 

“Shut up.” 

 

* * *

 

Hours pass and they have no luck. Lance has checked countless profiles and not a single one is Shiro's. Of the few he’d messaged, only a couple had responded, but the results had been fruitless.

Keith walks around in the living room, feeling restless and uneasy, while Lance continues the search by himself. To take his mind off the ordeal, Keith walks over to the window and looks down at the people below. The sun has already set, so the streets are mostly bare. A few people walk past every few minutes; usually a raucous group of teenagers or laughing drunk men. He’s about to turn away when he sees something that makes his heart ram hard and fast against his ribcage. 

And perhaps it’s nothing. Perhaps it’s just paranoia and fear mingling with uncertainty and doubt, but he _swears_  that the man that gets out of the car—tall, dressed in an immaculate black suit—is familiar. 

_A guard…?_

Keith slowly backs away and draws the curtain shut. When Lance sees his frazzled state and asks what’s wrong, all he can manage is shake of the head. 

 

* * *

 

“This,” Lance says, eyes flitting over the list of Shiro Facts he made Keith write yesterday, “is very helpful.” 

Keith blinks. “Really?” 

“Yep.” Lance shifts, placing the list down on the table, and taps his finger next to the fourth dot-point. “You wrote here that Shiro moved to Arus when he was young.” 

“…Yeah?” 

“Don’t you see what this means?” Lance asks, vibrating with excitement. “Shiro probably went to school here!” 

Keith frowns. “He probably did, but I don’t know what schools he went to. He never told me.” 

Lance smirks and opens his laptop. “Look at this.” 

Keith rests his arms on the back of the sofa, leaning forward to peer at the screen over Lance’s shoulder. “A list of all high schools in Arus…how is this going to help?” 

“We’ll check each of these schools’ websites to see if Shiro was a student there.” 

“That…” Keith frowns. “That’s really stupid.” 

Lance flinches at the comment. “Stupid?” He stands up and spins around until he’s face-to-face with Keith. “It is _not_ stupid! It’s a genius idea!” 

“Lance, there’re hundreds of schools here!” 

Lance scoffs. “I’m well aware. Shiro’s not the only one who moved here when he was young.” 

Keith throws his hands in the air, voice cracking. “It’ll take too long to check all the sites! You won’t find Shiro!” 

“But I _might_ find him! It’s worth a shot.” 

“Yeah, but I doubt most schools will even have a list of their students on their websites!” 

“Well, I’d like to hear your idea!” 

“I—I don’t—” Keith stutters. “I don’t know!” He narrows his eyes in a glare. 

“Until you can come up with a better idea”—Lance huffs as he takes his laptop—“I’ll be busy trying to find _your_ friend.” Then he stomps away. 

Keith groans in frustration and suppresses the urge to scream. 

 

* * *

 

“…How’s it going?” 

Lance shrugs, eyes drooping from fatigue. “Fine.” 

Keith sighs, placing a cup of coffee and a sandwich on the table. He slides them over to Lance. “Here.” 

For a second all Lance does is stare at the food, blinking stupidly. Keith bites his lip, worried Lance won’t take it. 

“Thanks,” Lance says eventually, smiling. 

Keith’s shoulders sag in relief. He sits down next to Lance, peering at the screen. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“Not really. You’ve never used a computer before so it’s better if I do it.” 

Keith nods, eyes glued to the window in the living room. Lance has been working for hours and Keith has spent that time next to the window, watching the people below. 

“If we had more time,” Lance continues. “I’d teach you how to use one. It’s really not that hard. Even my grandparents can use computers." 

He must notice Keith’s absent stare because the sound of clicking and typing stops. 

“Huh?” Keith says, snapping to attention. “Did you say something?” 

Lance shifts in his chair, following Keith’s gaze. “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “I’m…I’m fine.” 

“Really?” Lance gives him a level stare. “Come on, you need to be honest with me. What’s wrong?” 

Keith bites his lip. “It’s nothing. You’ll just say I’m being paranoid again.” 

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Para—? Did you see the guards? From the Institute?” 

“I don’t know,” Keith admits. “But…they might’ve been guards. I’ve seen a few men driving black cars and wearing black suits, so…” he sighs in frustration, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know, ok?” 

He wishes that Lance would say something—say _anything—_ to make him feel better. But Lance doesn’t. He remains quiet, staring at the computer screen with a look that borders on uncertain. 

“If those guys are guards, wouldn’t they wear a uniform? I don’t remember seeing anyone wearing a black suit the night you escaped.” 

“They only wear those uniforms at the Institute. When they go out, they drive black cars that look  _exactly_ like the cars I’ve seen. And they wear black suits.” 

“Keith, I’m going to be honest with you…” 

“Don’t say it,” Keith snarls. “Don’t say—” 

“I think you’re being paranoid, but—” 

Keith groans in frustration. “I told you not to say it!” 

“But!” Lance cuts in. “Let me finish, ok? _But_ if you’re so worried it’s them, then…we need to come up with a new plan, because I can’t find Shiro.” 

Suddenly, Keith’s not sitting in Lance’s dining room. He’s not next to Lance. He’s outside and it’s cold and the world is so huge while he’s a small, insignificant speck of dust, and the walls of the phone booth seem smaller than they should be, and Shiro isn’t answering, he isn’t answering and _god_ Keith has never been so scared— 

“Hey, hey, calm down. Calm down.” 

Keith draws in a shuddering breath and waits until the panic ebbs away. Lance has a firm grip on his shoulders, a grip that is so strong—so _sure_ —that Keith lets himself be grounded by it.  

“What’s the point?” Keith whispers. “They’re just gonna find me and take me back…there’s just—no point. We can’t find Shiro.”  

“ _We_ can’t find him. But I know someone who can.” 

“Really?”  

Lance’s whole face is blurry but Keith can still make out his smile—confident and reassuring. He blinks furiously until his vision clears up and Lance’s face is as radiant as it usually is, unfiltered by a layer of unshed tears.  

“I don’t want anyone else to get involved,” Keith admits.  

“My friend can take care of herself. We don’t even have to tell her why you’re looking for Shiro. She won’t pry…much." 

Keith frowns. “But what if—” 

“Nope,” Lance chides. “Nope, nope, you have got to stop worrying. Nothing bad will happen.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

Lance pauses for a moment. “I just have a hunch, ok? Trust me.” 

 

* * *

 

There's a hand on him. There's a hand on his arm, tightening the straps on his wrist. There's a hand; long fingers digging into his flesh, pulling and pushing, prodding and poking. There's a hand—hurting him, causing pain.

There's a hand—

There's a hand—

There's a hand.

The hand is warm.

Keith's eyes snap open. His breathing is erratic; heart pumping panic through his body. His mind doesn't register that Lance is in front of him. It doesn't register that Lance is asking if he's ok. All it can focus on is the hand ( _Lance's_ hand) holding onto his wrist. 

There's a hand—

_There's a hand._

In that moment Lance is no longer Lance. He's a silhouette—a danger, a menace, something unknown. And in the next moment, Keith is screaming and surging forward.

He's never been one to run from a fight. 

He takes this stranger by the arms and pins him to the floor. The blood rushing in his ears and the sickening, panic driven chant of _kill, hurt, kill, kill_ that plays in his mind is the only thing he hears. His hand burns as he wraps it around the stranger’s—the _danger’s—_ neck. Keith squeezes, teeth bared in a snarl. He won't show his fear.  

“—ith….sto—it's m—”

His whole body shakes violently. His eyes see nothing but red and _fear_ and red and _danger._  

“K-Keith…s-sto—”

He hears something else. A gentle, quiet voice. Despite its gentleness, it borders on frantic. It sounds how Keith feels, and he wonders, briefly, if he’s talking out loud without realising. But Keith knows his voice, and this isn't it. 

He blinks and like a camera coming into focus, he sees a glimpse of this stranger in front of him, this person he's choking to death with his burning flames. 

Lance. It's Lance.

"Keith!" It's Lance's voice, there's no denying it. "S-stop!" He chokes out.

Keith blinks again and meets Lance's eyes. Lance's whole face is aglow thanks to Keith's hand. For a moment all Keith can do is stare and watch as Lance struggles. And oddly enough, he doesn't feel panicked; not yet. This is the calm before the storm—the moment where the situation has registered in his mind but he hasn't yet grasped it; hasn't understood it.

"Stop," Lance whispers, weakly reaching out with a hand. He grabs hold of Keith's wrist. His hand is warm.

Keith pulls back immediately. 

Lance rolls onto his side and starts to cough. His whole body trembles in exertion, his breaths shaky and unstable.

The eye of the storm has passed. Remnants of his dream dissipate from his mind. Keith is hit all at once with the severity of the situation. He almost killed Lance. For the second time since he first met Lance, he's almost killed him.

He cannot move. His limbs are lead, his bones are steel—everything has rusted together. His cold, metal heart hammers away. Keith wonders how long it'll last before it finally breaks.

"Keith," Lance says shakily. 

Lance’s voice jolts through Keith; the oil needed to mend his joints, to break his heart.

"Stay back," Keith whispers. He scurries back, away from Lance, away from reality, away from this entire situation. "Stay back!"

Lance shakes his head and moves forward. Keith falls apart more and more with each inch that Lance closes between them.

He's a monster. He hurt Lance twice and he'll probably do it again. He doesn't want to, but he can't help it. He's a monster. All he ever does is hurt people.

"Stay away!" Keith shouts, voice breaking. "Stay away from me!" 

Lance places a gentle hand on his shoulder and Keith flinches back hard. He doesn't look up because doing so will mean seeing _it_ , the horrible injury marring Lance; staining his perfection. The injury he caused. 

"Calm down," Lance says. "It's ok."

"It's not!" Keith argues. "Lance, I hurt you."

"It was my fault," Lance says. "You seemed like you were having a bad dream and I tried to wake you, but I shouldn't have startled you like that. I'm sorry."

Nothing has ever caused Keith to feel such a violent, sudden, _inexplicable_ rage. "You're sorry? You're sorry?" He can't do it anymore; he looks up at Lance. "You're sorry?" He asks again, whispering, shaking. 

"Yeah, I am."

Keith swats Lance's arm away. "I'm the one that's sorry!" His eyes dart all over Lance—from his hair to his eyes to his arms to the horrible mark on his neck. He falters, curling in on himself. "I'm sorry. I hurt you again."

"It's not your fault."

Keith ignores him. "I hate it. I hate this so much. I'm a monster." 

"You're not," Lance says. His voice is calm but stern, and when Keith meets his gaze, he's blown away by the intensity. Lance grabs his hands and Keith's breath hitches. Lance’s hands are warm. Comforting. "You're not a monster." 

Keith shuts his eyes tightly and manages a small nod. If Lance says it.... If Lance says it, maybe it's true. Maybe, Keith can believe him.  

"I'm sorry," Keith says again. 

Lance tightens his grip, steadying Keith's shaking hands. 

 

* * *

 

"What's up?" Pidge says with a nod. "I'm Pidge." 

Keith swallows, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Uh...nice to meet you. I'm Keith." 

"Pidge here is a genius," Lance says with a fond grin. He slings an arm around her shoulders and Pidge protests immediately, slipping under his grip and grumbling about her ruined hair. 

Lance laughs, raucous as ever, and Keith watches on in disbelief. How can Lance still be so eager to help him after what happened last night? Keith is dangerous. He's a threat to everyone's safety. He doesn't deserve any help. 

"Hello? Earth to Keith?" 

Keith blinks, looking down at Pidge who stands precariously on her tiptoes, waving a hand in front of his face. 

"Oh...Uh...Sorry. What'd you say?" he asks. 

Pidge pushes her glasses up her nose. She sits on Lance's sofa and takes out a large, clunky laptop from her backpack. It's covered in stickers of (what Keith assumes are) band logos and various cute animals. The stickers seem fairly old—the edges are all peeling slightly from the laptop's surface. She plugs one end of her laptop charger in; the other end she throws at Lance, who yelps as it soars and hits his feet. 

"I said," Pidge starts, ignoring Lance's shouts of protest ("I'm not your slave Pidge! Plug in your own charger!). "That I'll need a bit of information about this friend of yours before I start searching for him." 

"Oh," Keith says. "What do you need to know?" 

Pidge turns on her laptop, the fans whirring to life. "Anything, really." 

"We've got you covered, Pidge," Lance says, standing proud. He hands the certified Shiro Fact sheet to Pidge, while Keith groans into his hands. 

"Ok," Pidge says. "Maybe not _anything_ will help." 

Lance squawks indignantly. "That list was very helpful to us, Pidge. _Very_ helpful!" 

Pidge rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure knowing that Shiro likes his coffee with no milk and two sugars helps narrow down the search a lot." 

Lance huffs, flopping on the sofa next to her. "Fine," he says stiffly. "You do your weird”—he gestures to her laptop—“genius mumbo-jumbo, or whatever it is, and show us dumb people how it's done." 

Pidge smirks and Keith feels a shiver run down his spine. She flexes her fingers. "With pleasure." 

Lance's phone starts to ring, the shrill staccato of his ringtone piercing the silence in the room. He excuses himself, rising fluidly and disappearing into his bedroom to take the call. 

Keith shifts uncomfortably, trying to figure out what he should do now that he's alone with Pidge. Would it be weird if he left, too? Would Pidge think he's avoiding her? 

"So," she says slowly, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. "How'd you and Lance meet?" 

Keith freezes at the look she gives him this weird, almost knowing look, as if she's dissecting him then and there. 

"Uh..." Keith says dumbly. "I thought that Lance already told you." 

"He did," she says. "I just want to hear the story from you."  

Keith thinks back to this morning, straining his mind as he tries to remember the conversation Lance had with Pidge over the phone. 

"Elementary school," he says. 

Pidge nods. "And this friend you're looking for...why are you looking for him?" 

Lance had mentioned that they needed help looking for Shiro...but he hadn't mentioned _why_ they were looking for him. 

"I need something," Keith says. "And he might have it." 

"What is it you need?" 

Keith allows himself to smile a little. "That's a secret." 

Pidge stares at him for a long time and then throws her head back in a laugh. "I guess that's fair," she says, stifling her giggles.  

 

* * *

 

Keith can tell that Lance is trying really _really_ hard to keep his lips from curling up into a smile.  

"Pidge," Lance says from the living room doorway. "How's the search going?" He brings a hand up to his face, laughing into his palm. 

"Shut up," Pidge grumbles. "This is harder than it looks!" 

Lance hits his hand against the wall, shoulders shaking as he laughs. "You said this would be _so_ easy!" 

"Shut up!" Pidge shouts again, throwing a tissue box in his direction. It misses its mark spectacularly, bouncing off the wall next to Lance rather than off his head.  

"Sorry, Keith," Lance says as he walks back to the dining room. He sits down with a large grin. "I know it must be annoying that Pidge hasn't found Shiro yet, but after what she said about my Shiro fact sheet..." his smile grows impossibly large now, wickedly sinister.  

Keith shrugs. "It's fine. She's only been working for a few hours anyway." 

Lance frowns suddenly, and the change in demeanour is so odd it brings Keith on edge almost immediately. "It's kind of weird...I thought she'd have found him by now." 

Keith glances in the direction of the living room, even though there's a wall blocking him from seeing Pidge working on her laptop. "She's a hacker?" 

"Yep." Lance takes a sip of water. "She's one of the best." 

"Then...she wouldn't...I mean, what if she searches for me, and finds out—” 

Lance waves a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about that. I doubt she'd do it. She believes the story I told her about us." 

"Ok." Keith allows himself to relax. "Ok." 

"She'll find Shiro," Lance says, more to himself. "Definitely. She's done crazier stuff in high school, so this shouldn't be a problem." 

"High school?" 

Lance smiles fondly. "Yeah. Those were the days, you know?" 

Keith's shoulders hunch a little, and Lance's eyes grow wide. 

"Oh, shit," Lance curses. "Shit, you  _don't_ know. Oh god, listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—” 

"It's ok," Keith says. As he trails his eyes up from the table to Lance's face, his gaze falters momentarily at Lance's neck. He looks back down at the table. "The Institute technically _is_ a school." 

"I'm so dumb," Lance says. He buries his face in his hands, and his voice comes out muffled when he talks. "I'm sorry. My mind just...doesn't filter what I say sometimes." 

"It's fine," Keith says again. He hates having Lance apologise to him, especially when he's wronged Lance so much more than Lance has ever wronged him. 

Lance looks like he wants to say something else, but Pidge walks in and their conversation is (thankfully) cut short. 

"Any luck?" Lance asks her. 

Pidge sighs. "No. I think Shiro might be using a fake name or something." 

"Oh." Keith tries not to look too forlorn at that. 

"No, no," Pidge says. "I can still find him. Don't worry about that. It'll just take a bit longer." 

Lance nods toward her. "Need anything? Maybe some food?"

She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes. "I need sleep," she mutters. "Can I crash here?"

Lance snorts. "You need to ask? Just take a blanket from my room."

"Great. I'll sleep on the sofa."

Pidge trudges back to the living room while Keith watches her go, mouth agape. If she's taking his usual spot on the sofa... then where will he sleep? On the floor?

He turns to Lance, waiting for some kind of instruction, but Lance doesn't seem concerned about where Keith will sleep at all.

Keith leans back in his chair, scuffing the kitchen tiles with his foot. Maybe he could sleep here...?

 

* * *

 

The pipes beneath the bathroom floor groan in protest as Keith turns on the tap. He brushes his teeth quickly, a methodical habit he got from his days in the Institute, and shuts off the water. He's dressed in his pyjamas (or rather, Lance's pyjamas) preparing to go to sleep, but the problem is he still doesn't know _where_ he'll sleep. 

Pidge has taken up the sofa and it'd be kind of awkward for him to just sleep on the floor near her. Lance has his own bedroom, so that leaves Keith with few options. 

He eyes the bathtub warily. It seems comfortable enough. He's definitely slept in worse things before. Besides, it's safer for him to sleep in a secluded room without any people around. Keith shrugs before lifting a foot up over the edge, pointedly ignoring the puddle of water near the drain, when he hears a knock on the door. 

"Keith? Buddy? Are you done yet?" 

Keith holds onto the edge of the sink for support, stepping away from the tub. "Uh...hold on. I'm almost done." 

"Well," Lance says. "Could you maybe hurry up a little? 'Cause I really need to pee." 

Keith takes one final look at the tub before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. Lance bursts into the bathroom, almost slipping on the damp tiles, then slams the door shut. 

Keith stands next to the door awkwardly. He can hear Pidge's soft snores from the living room and wonders how she managed to sleep through Lance's shouting.  

The toilet flushes and before he even realises, Keith is face-to-face with Lance. Lance lets out a yelp, almost ramming right into Keith on his way out of the bathroom. 

"Why're you”—he glances briefly at Pidge and lowers his voice—“why're you still out here?" 

"Uh..."  

"Come on," Lance whispers, pushing on Keith's back. 

“Where are we going?" 

"Duh. We're going to bed." 

"Bed?" 

Keith gets shoved into Lance's room and, before he can even protest, the door is shut. 

"What do you mean?" Lance asks, speaking a bit louder than before. "People sleep in a bed." He points at his bed. "Which is what we'll be doing." 

Keith's eyes widen. "We're going to share your bed?" 

Lance leans on the door, arms crossed. He looks amused. "Don't worry, there's enough space for us both." 

"No, that's not...I'm not worried about that." 

"Then what's the big deal?" Lance steps forward. 

Keith steps back. "Don't you remember what I did yesterday?" 

Lance has been wearing a turtleneck under his hoodie all day, keeping his wounded neck covered. Keith is partly glad for it; seeing the burn mark just makes him feel ten times guiltier. But the turtleneck in itself is a grim reminder of what he's done, and as much as he's happy it's there, he hates seeing it too. 

"We talked about that," Lance says softly. "I told you that it's fine." 

"What if I hurt you again?" Keith protests. "Think of your own safety for once." 

Lance stubbornly shakes his head. "Nope. I'm not changing my mind. We're sleeping together." 

Keith is close to crying out in frustration. "I'll just sleep on the floor." He grabs one of the two pillows on Lance's bed, but Lance snatches it from him. 

"Lance," Keith hisses. "Give it back." 

"No can do." Lance holds the pillow close to his chest with one hand. With the other, he points to himself. "If anyone is sleeping on the floor, it's me." 

"Stop being so stubborn! It's your bed! You should sleep on it!" 

"Yeah, you're right, it's _my_ bed, and I say we're going to share it! Either that or you're taking the bed." 

"You..." Keith balls his hands into fists. "You should be able to sleep in your own bed without worrying about whether or not you'll be killed." 

"Hey," Lance reaches out and grabs hold of Keith's arm. "I told you," he says, voice low and serious. "I trust you. I'll be fine." 

Slowly but surely, Keith is being worn down. "But..." 

"Come on," Lance coaxes, throwing the pillow back on the bed. "Trust me when I say that I'll be ok." 

"Yeah," Keith swallows. "I can...try." 

Lance smiles and Keith allows himself to sit on the bed. "Also," Lance says. "You need to trust yourself." 

Keith is about to stand up in panic when Lance pushes him back down. 

"I don't think I can do that," he admits meekly. "Seriously, Lance, this isn't going to work." 

Lance looks into his eyes for a long time, as if eye contact alone will convince him. Finally, he pulls back. "Alright," Lance sighs, smiling lightly. "I guess I'm sleeping on the floor." 

Keith springs into action immediately, hugging the pillow to his chest and rolling off the bed. Lance is too shocked to react, so Keith spreads his arms and legs out as wide as he can, taking up as much space as possible before Lance tries to get him up on the bed again.  

"Too late," Keith says. "The floor's mine." 

And then...Lance laughs. He laughs so much he doubles over, clutching his sides, wiping tears from his eyes. "You're so weird," he wheezes, taking a deep breath. "God, you're weirder than Pidge. Weirder than _me."_  

Keith stares up at Lance stupidly, watching as Lance settles under the covers.  

"Need a blanket?" Lance whispers. He's still laughing to himself. 

Keith adjusts his pillow, settling it behind his head, and rolls to the side so he's facing away from Lance. "No." 

"You sure? It can get pretty cold..." Lance trails off, and Keith can't keep the bitter smile off his face. 

Of course Keith won't need a blanket. Fire never gets cold. 

"Listen," Lance says. "If you change your mind”—Keith hears him pat the bed—“there's enough room for you, too. And if there isn't just, like, push me off the bed, or something." 

"I'm fine here." 

"Ok." Lance shifts around, sheets rustling. "If you insist." 

Keith hears the click of Lance switching his bedside lamp off. "Lance?" he dares to say. 

"Yeah?" 

"Sleep well." 

Lance chuckles. "You too." 

 

* * *

 

“Keith? What are you doing?” 

Keith looks over at Pidge, arms folded across his chest.  

“Standing,” he says. 

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I can see that. But _why_ are you standing?” 

Keith shrugs and glances briefly outside. “No reason. I like looking at the view.” 

Pidge continues to type furiously on her laptop while staring at him. “Really? The view’s kinda boring—to me, at least. I mean, you can’t really expect a nice view from a cheap apartment like this.” 

“Hey!” Lance shouts as he walks by. “The view is perfectly fine!” he says, his voice getting quieter with each step he takes. 

Pidge laughs and focuses back on her laptop screen. The instant she does that, Keith’s shoulders sag in relief. He looks out the window again and frowns when he notices the group of men in black suits that had been standing on the sidewalk is now gone. 

“Keith,” Lance says, leaning on the doorway to the living room. “Put these on.” 

Keith barely has any time to react; a pair of shoes come flying right at him. He manages to catch one, while the other hits his stomach and falls to the floor.  

“What?” he says. “Why?” 

“Just put them on and follow me.” 

Keith frowns and hesitantly does as requested. The shoes in question are a bit big—unsurprising, given that they’re Lance’s. He bends down to tighten the laces but doesn’t bother tying them. Instead, he tucks them in between the side of the shoe and his foot. He'd rather wear the boots he wore the night he escaped, but Lance had taken all of Keith's clothes from that night and thrown them away, claiming there was too much ‘negative energy’ associated with them. 

“We’re gonna go out for a while,” Lance says to Pidge. “Do you need anything?” 

“Food.” 

Lance frowns. “There’s food in the fridge.” 

“ _Good_ food.” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. Your wish is my command.” He nods over at Keith, gesturing for him to follow. 

Keith allows himself to be ushered out of the door. He waits, hoping Lance will explain what’s going on, but Lance stays silent.  

“Where are we going?” he finally asks. 

Lance smiles at him, eyes glinting with mischief. Keith knows immediately he won’t like the answer. 

“Shopping.” 

 

* * *

 

The last time Keith went shopping was when he was five years old. He remembers crying in the toy store, begging his father to buy him something. He remembers getting lost in the grocery store and sobbing in the cereal aisle. He remembers the feeling of happiness and relief when his father found him; the feeling of safety as his father held him in his arms.  

That’s the last memory he has of his father. After that, all he remembers is the orphanage. And the Institute. 

“What do you think?” Lance asks, holding up a plain black shirt. 

It takes a moment for the question to register. Keith is still not used to large, crowded places. He feels awkward and uncomfortable and—worst of all—exposed.  

“Uh…it’s fine,” he says, barely glancing at the shirt. “It’ll suit you.” 

“It’s not for me,” Lance says. “It’s for you.” 

This gets Keith’s attention. “Oh.” 

Lance holds the shirt up again. “Well?” 

“It’s fine. But…why are you shopping for me?” 

Lance throws the shirt over his arm, pulling out a different shirt. He holds it up again, assessing it with a critical eye. “You don’t have any clothes of your own, so I thought I should get you some. And I don’t really know what kind of clothes you like so”—Lance smiles again, slinging an arm over Keith’s shoulders—“that’s why you’re here.” 

Keith stiffens under the touch, nervously glancing around. “Thanks,” he manages to say. “But I’m not picky. You could’ve bought anything and I wouldn’t care.” 

The instant he says it, he wishes he didn’t. Lance’s eyes go impossibly wide and then narrow into slits. Then he smirks, and Keith knows he’s screwed.  

“So, you’d be ok with this?” Lance holds up a shirt that’s covered in sequins and tassels. 

“Sure,” Keith says, trying to be cool. “It looks nice.” 

“And this?” Lance holds up another shirt, but this one is cropped. If Keith were to wear it, his entire stomach and back would be exposed; and he’s _definitely_ not used to that kind of attention. 

Keith crosses his arms, letting his shoulders drop a little. He needs to look relaxed. “Why not?” 

Lance seems close to laughing but manages to stay in check. “Alright, so what about _that_?” Lance points to a stack of clothing on the shelf opposite them.  

Keith follows Lance’s gaze. 

Bikinis. Lance is pointing to a bunch of bikinis. 

Keith takes a deep breath. “To me it just seems like _you_ want to see me wear that.” 

Lance blinks at him and then laughs. “Ok,” he concedes. “You got me there. It’d be _hilarious_ to see you wear one of those.” 

“Hilarious?” Keith asks with a frown.  

“Yeah.” 

“I look hilarious to you?” 

Lance answers with a sly wink.

 

* * *

 

In the end they leave the store with three bags of clothing. Shirts, hoodies, pants, socks, underwear, shoes—Lance made sure Keith had everything he’d need. 

Keith peers inside the large bag he’s holding. “Why did you get these colours?” 

Lance almost looks alarmed. “You said you didn’t care about the colours.” His voice echoes softly as they walk in the carpark. 

“I don’t,” Keith assures. “But everything you got is either black, grey or red.” 

“Oh,” Lance says. “That’s because of the whole emo aesthetic thing you have going on.” 

Keith furrows his brows in anger. “I don’t have an emo aesthetic.” 

“It’s ok,” Lance says in a voice he probably meant to be comforting. To Keith, however, it just sounds patronising.  

“Lance,” Keith says, annoyed. “I don’t have an—” 

Keith freezes suddenly, his feet stuck to the ground. There’s a horrible lead weight in his stomach, pulling him down, urging him to topple over. 

“Keith? What’s wrong?” 

Keith gulps. “Over there,” he says quietly.  

A man stands a few feet away, talking on his phone. He’s tall; hair gelled back immaculately, shoes polished and gleaming. But Keith only focuses on the fact that he’s wearing a black suit. 

“He’s probably a businessman,” Lance says. “Don't worry about it." 

_Probably._ But for Keith, probably just isn’t good enough. He needs certainty. He needs reassurance. 

Then the man starts walking—right toward them. 

And Keith honestly can’t tell the difference anymore, between a carpark and a forest. He steps forward, arms shooting out in front of Lance, and prepares to—to do what? What’s the plan? 

What’s the plan? 

Keith’s eyes widen when Lance pushes him back.  

“Lance?” Keith says lowly. “What are you doing?" 

“Put your hood up,” Lance says. His voice is uncharacteristically serious. 

Keith follows Lance’s command, putting his hood up, trying to ignore the shakiness in his fingers. He arms drop back to his sides, and he can feel a horrible itch deep beneath his skin; a burning that comes from the inside. He hates it; it makes him feel sick. It brings back horrible memories of running in the rain; bleeding, suffering, escaping.  

Dying. 

And then Lance’s hand is in his. And then Lance’s fingers slip in between his own. And then Keith feels like he can breathe a bit easier, because Lance’s hands are so soft and gentle; nothing like his own. Lance’s hands are warm, yet somehow they feel cool against Keith’s skin. 

The man continues to walk, his footsteps growing louder and louder the closer he gets. 

“It’s ok.” Lance’s voice is firm. “It’s ok.” 

Keith nods, even though Lance can’t see him. He keeps his head down, focusing on the oil stains and white lines beneath his feet.  

With a gentle tug, Lance urges Keith to start walking. Lance sets the pace, slow and steady, while Keith trails behind. Lance doesn’t let go of his hand. 

The man is a lot closer now. Keith's whole body is tense, ready to fight if it comes down to it. His hand—the one Lance isn't holding—is clenched into a fist, shaking so much his bag rustles. He keeps his gaze away from the man and focuses on Lance instead. 

Lance walks carefully, as if the floor were made of glass. His head is held up high, the line of his jaw rigid. It's weird to see him like this, so serious and stern. Keith doesn't like it. 

They're just about to pass the man. They're so close Keith can smell his cologne—a thick, heavy, overpowering scent that makes him want to gag. For a second, Keith thinks they're in the clear. The man doesn't even spare them a glance; surely he doesn't know who Keith is. 

_Just a few more steps,_ Keith thinks. _A few more steps and we'll be safe._  

"Excuse me," the man says, stopping right in front of them. 

Lance stops as well, causing Keith to follow. "Yes?" Lance asks. 

From this spot, considering the man's position relative to Lance, what's going to happen is clear. The man will attack Lance first, since he's blocking access to Keith. He'll do this with a swift punch or kick to the stomach. As Lance doubles over in pain, Keith will attempt to attack. The man will dodge Keith's hit and swing his arm up in an uppercut aimed right at Lance's chin. Lance will probably topple to the floor at this point. Keith will move in to shield Lance, but surely this man isn't alone. Other guards will spring up from the corners and shadows. They'll easily overpower Keith in this enclosed space, securing his arms behind his back, and ushering him into a car. Then—

"Do you boys know where the nearest bank is?" 

Keith gapes up at the man in shock and, while he doesn't show it on his face or in his posture, Lance's grip tightens ever so slightly, so Keith knows he’s shocked too. 

"The...bank?" Lance repeats. 

The man nods. 

"Oh, it's uh—down that way." Lance points over his shoulder.  

The man smiles. "Thank you." Then he walks away. 

Keith watches him go until he disappears from view. He doesn't know if Lance is doing the same or not, but it isn't until the man is gone that Lance tugs his arm and starts walking again. Keith follows along, still very much in a daze. He's glad he didn't need to fight, but now the adrenaline is wearing off and it leaves him feeling...weird. Tired. Anxious. 

When they make it back to Lance's car, Lance wordlessly takes the bag from Keith's grip. He opens up one of the back doors and throws all of their bags inside. Keith looks around the carpark once more before sitting in the passenger's seat. Lance follows soon after, closing the door with a little more force than necessary. 

Keith fumbles with his seatbelt, partly because he's still not used to them, and partly because his hands are still shaking. When it clicks in place he allows himself to relax a little. Having the seatbelt on makes him feel a bit safer. 

"Lance?" he asks, frowning in concern.  

Lance sits perfectly still, almost as if he's scared to move. His hands grip tightly onto the steering wheel and he stares ahead, gaze blank.  

"Sorry," he says. "Sorry, just... _shit..."_ he curses quietly. "Give me a minute." 

Keith nods. 

Lance leans forward until his forehead touches the steering wheel. Keith thinks he's crying, and that thought alone is enough to send him into a flurry of panic, but eventually Lance sighs and sits back up.  

"Ok," Lance says, putting on his seatbelt. His voice is dull and monotone. "Let's go." 

Keith waits until they're far _far_ away from the carpark before he finally speaks. "I'm sorry." 

Lance eyes him. "What for?" 

"Just...being so paranoid, I guess. It must be hard for you, to have to deal with me." 

"That's not something you need to be sorry for. Don't worry about it." 

"I scared you." 

Lance chuckles. "No, _you_ didn't. But that guy did. I thought he might've...actually been after you and”—Lance shakes his head—“that really scared me." 

"You felt that way because of me. If—If I was calmer and stronger we both wouldn't be so on edge right now." 

Lance sighs tiredly. "I told you not to apologise. Seriously, I'm ok. Yeah, I was a bit scared but...who wouldn't be?" 

Keith looks out the window, watching trees and buildings pass by in a blur. "Lance, I need to leave soon." 

A beat of silence. "I know." 

"I'm worried. I keep seeing black cars and men in black suits." 

"No matter how many times I tell you that you're being paranoid, you're still going to worry, aren't you?" 

Keith rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah." 

"If that's how you feel," Lance smiles at him, "then let's see how Pidge's search is going. The sooner she finds Shiro, the sooner you can leave." 

When they finally make it back to Lance's apartment, they're both feeling calmer. Keith stands idly behind Lance, holding all three shopping bags as Lance searches his pockets for his keys. Then Lance gasps in shock, groans in annoyance, and hits his head on the door. 

"Lost your key?" 

"No," Lance all but whines. "This is worse. Much worse." He sighs, unlocking the door. "Pidge!" he shouts as he enters. "Don't kill me, but I forgot to get you some food." 

When they receive no response, Lance hesitantly moves into the living room. "Pidge?" 

Pidge sits on the sofa, in the exact same position they left her. Only this time, she isn't furiously typing away on her keyboard. She looks up at them as they walk in and stands up, springing to her feet in a way that almost seems excited. 

"Guys," she says. "I did it." 

"Did what?" Lance asks. 

Pidge stumbles over to Keith, stepping over a pile of scattered notes. She holds a small, wrinkled piece of paper in front of him. Keith takes it with shaky hands. 

"I found Shiro." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew another chapter done! thanks for reading and, as always, I hoped you enjoyed :D


	4. Chapter 4

Keith bites his lip as the phone rings. His head feels light, cotton wedged between the crevices of his mind. He still can't believe this is happening; he's finally going to talk to Shiro.  

He hears a weird shuffling noise and quickly turns to inspect it. He sees Pidge and Lance creeping out of the living room, trying to be as quiet as possible. Pidge moves her feet in awkward sliding motions, gliding on the hardwood floor with her socks. Lance pushes her, whisper-shouting for her to move faster. He stiffens when he notices Keith staring and urges Pidge to hurry up. 

"You don't have to leave," Keith blurts. 

Pidge stops so suddenly Lance rams right into her back. She shouts in protest, wobbling precariously, while Lance pulls her back upright.  

"Are you sure?" Lance asks. "I mean...we don't want to impose. We know how important this is for you." 

Keith idly taps his foot; a nervous habit. "I'm sure." 

Lance and Pidge share looks of confusion. Eventually, they shuffle back into the room, standing side-by-side against the wall. 

Keith's so distracted by them he doesn't even hear the _click_  on the phone line. 

"Hello?" 

It's Shiro. It's Shiro's voice. 

Keith's entire body seizes. For so long he's imagined this exact moment. He's gone through the motions hundreds of times, picturing everything he'd say—planning, preparing. 

Dreaming. 

But now that it's happening...he has no idea what to do. His throat feels dry; no matter how many times he swallows, it doesn't help. He looks at Lance in alarm. 

 _"Talk to him."_ Lance mouths the words. He smiles and gives Keith a thumb's up. 

Pidge smiles as well, her head bobbing in a single nod. 

"Hello?" Shiro asks again. 

"It's me," Keith finally says. 

Silence. Rustling. Disbelief. 

“Is this...? Is that you, Ke—”

"It's me," Keith repeats. He raises his voice a bit. "I uh...got out." 

Shiro laughs. But it's not the type of laugh you give when someone tells you a funny joke. It's not the half nervous, half awkward laugh you reserve for uncomfortable situations. No, Shiro's laugh is...happy.  

"I can't believe it," Shiro says. "I was so worried about you and now..." he pauses for a moment. "You're safe now, aren't you?" 

"I am," Keith quickly reassures. "I'm..." he smiles a little. "Staying with someone." 

“Oh? A friend? Other than me?" Shiro laughs again. "I'm glad you found someone to help you." 

"Me too." 

"Listen," Shiro's voice takes on a more serious tone. Keith's used to it by now—he’s heard it plenty times at the Institute—but it still makes him tense up a bit. "I'm sorry. You probably tried to call me before, but—” 

“It’s fine," Keith interjects. "There's a lot we need to talk about. But not right now." He pauses for a moment. "We need to meet." 

"Of course. I'm guessing since you have my number, you have my address, too?" 

"Yes. I'll be there as soon as I can." 

"Take care. I'll be waiting." 

Keith hangs up. 

"So..." Lance raises his eyebrows. "It seems like it went well." 

Keith takes a breath, finally able to do so without a horrible weight pressing down on him. For the first time in a long time, he feels a semblance of calmness. "It did. I'm going to go meet him." 

Lance nods slowly. "I figured you would." He smiles a little. "When are you leaving?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"How will you get there?" Pidge asks.  

"Oh." Keith deflates a little. "I didn't think about that. I guess I just assumed Shiro would live somewhere that was walking distance from here." 

"Dude." Lance crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm standing right here." 

Keith frowns in confusion. "Yes, I can see you."  

"No," Lance says with a scoff. "I'm _right here_ , Keith. I'm your mode of transportation." 

"You want to come with me?" 

"Yeah. We're kind of in this together now, you know?" 

"We're not. I need to leave, Lance. I can't keep dragging you down like this. I'm just—” He pauses, realising Pidge is still in the room. She's sat back down at her laptop, but Keith knows she's listening in. He lowers his voice and leans in closer to Lance. "I'm too dangerous." 

"I hate to break it to you, buddy, but other than me, you don't have many other options." 

"I've imposed on your life enough!" Keith argues. "Aren't you sick of me?" 

Lance flinches, taken aback. "No," he says. "Never." 

Now it's Keith's turn to be shocked. He stares at Lance, mouth parted, trying to figure out what to say. 

Pidge sighs, clambering to her feet. "Keith, seriously, just go with him." 

Keith shakes his head. "I'd rather go alone." 

She stands next to them, her eyes darting back and forth from Keith to Lance. "Ok, clearly there's something going on here that I don't know about”—she gestures vaguely to the space between them—“but Lance wants to help. So you should let him." 

Even with her glasses obscuring her eyes, Keith can still see the sincerity that shines within them. But he knows she wouldn't look at him like that—all innocent and doe-eyed—if she knew what he was _really_ like. Would she still smile at him if she knew he was a monster? Or if she knew he'd hurt her best friend—not once, but _twice?_ Of course not. 

"I want to go alone." 

"Quit being so stubborn!" Lance shouts. "How else will you get there?" 

While Lance silently fumes, Pidge explains calmly, "Shiro lives in Arus North. We're in Arus South. And Keith...Arus is a large state." 

"I know," Keith cuts in. He's growing impatient. "I'll just take a train." 

"Those are really expensive." Pidge eyes the bags of clothing Lance bought for him earlier. “And I can see that you have _tons_ of spare cash.”

Keith sighs. He can tell these two won't let up.  

“Lance,” he says. “You're really ok with this?" 

Lance rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't." 

“Fine. I'll go with you." 

 

* * *

 

"You know," Pidge says with a smile, "I'm going to miss you guys." 

"Aw," Lance gushes. "Pidge. Come here." He holds his arms out for a hug. 

Pidge gladly accepts, allowing Lance to pull her into an embrace. A few seconds later she starts to shout as Lance ruffles her hair. When he finally releases her she steps back and smoothes her hair with a frown. But once she sees Lance smile, she smiles back. 

Keith feels a bit awkward watching their exchange. He doesn’t really know what he and Lance are…can they be considered friends? He knows he and Pidge aren’t friends; they’ve barely known each other for a week. But he finds himself relating to Pidge’s words regardless. He's going to miss her. He’s going to miss staying in Lance’s apartment too. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts when something slams into him. The force is so strong it almost knocks him off his feet. He stumbles a bit but manages to right himself. Looking down in alarm, he sees what collided with him. 

“Pidge?” he says. 

Pidge leans back a bit. “I hope everything goes well for you.” Her expression is so earnest Keith can’t look away.  

“I…” Keith is at a loss for words. “Thank you,” he says. “And thanks for finding Shiro. It means a lot.” 

Pidge steps back with a shrug. “It’s no problem. It wasn’t even that hard.” She ignores Lance’s snickering.  

“As moving as this whole exchange is,” Lance says as he opens the car door, “we should get going.” He nods toward Keith. 

Keith nods back, moving to get in the passenger’s seat.  

Lance starts the car, putting on his seatbelt and adjusting his seat. When everything is done, he rests his hands on the steering wheel and turns to Keith. “Well? Are you ready?” 

Keith takes his time fastening his seatbelt. When it clicks into place, he meets Lance’s gaze. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

Lance smiles, hollering through the window as he steps on the accelerator. “Bye, Pidge!” 

And just like that, Keith starts his quest for normalcy. 

 

* * *

 

Six hours. In six hours they’ll be in Arus North, in Shiro’s house, _with_ Shiro, and Keith can finally get closer to being human again. He should feel happy—he’s finally getting what he’s wanted—but Keith finds himself oddly uneasy. He unfurls his hand, revealing the small piece of paper Pidge had used to scribble down Shiro’s number and address. The cause of his unease is right there, in the small, tight lines of Pidge’s scrawl.  

Shiro is using a new name, and Keith can’t figure out why. Rather, he doesn’t _want_ to even start thinking of the possible situations that led Shiro to do something like this, something so drastic. If Shiro had just changed his number, Keith wouldn’t mind so much. Maybe he lost his phone, or dropped it down a flight of stairs, or it got stolen. But _this_ —going under a new name instead of Takashi Shirogane—is a lot more serious. 

Keith sighs in frustration, stuffing the paper into his pocket. He leans back, sinking in his seat, hoping it’ll suffocate him; maybe that’ll stop the thoughts buzzing around in his mind. 

“Is everything ok?” Lance asks. He’s been humming along to the radio for the entire ride, so Keith had thought he’d be too distracted to notice him stress out. But, of course, Lance is just too observant. 

“It’s nothing,” Keith says.  

Lance takes his eyes away from the road for a moment to glance at him. There’s a look on his face that doesn’t sit well with Keith. Lance almost looks…annoyed? Upset? Worried?  

Keith cracks under that stare. “No,” he breathes out. “It’s not nothing. I’m just…anxious.” 

Lance’s face relaxes at that. His grip on the steering wheel loosens. “That’s understandable,” he says. “If I were you, I’d feel anxious too. You haven’t seen Shiro in so long, so it’s natural to feel a bit weird about seeing him again.” 

“That’s not it.” Keith crosses his arms and stares out the window. If he weren’t feeling like this, he’d enjoy the view. But for now, not even the gorgeous trees and vast fields they pass by are enough to quell his thoughts. “I’m trying to figure out why Shiro is using a fake name.” 

“Yeah, I thought that was weird.” Lance waves an arm about. “His real name is so cool but his fake name is kind of lame. I mean, ‘John White’? That’s so boring! There are _so many_ cool names he could’ve chosen instead of that.” 

Keith gives him an incredulous look. “I’m not talking about that. I’m just worried something bad happened to him. Why else would he need a fake name?” 

Lance sits quietly for a moment, thinking. “I’m sure he’s fine. It could just be a safety precaution, you know? You told me he quit his job at the Institute. If they let him go, they wouldn’t hurt him." 

Keith bites his lip. His fingers shake slightly. “Actually…” 

“What?” 

“On the day I escaped…I wasn’t supposed to escape like that. I almost got caught and I was hurt really badly… everything was a mess.” 

“I remember,” Lance says with a nod. 

“I was supposed to escape earlier. A month earlier. And Shiro and Alfor were supposed to be there to help me.” 

Lance nods again. “Why didn’t you? Why’d you wait?” 

“Because the guards found out about our plan. Shiro and Alfor told them I had nothing to do with it. They made it sound more like they were just trying to kidnap me, or something.” 

Lance gapes in shock. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Keith laughs humourlessly. “They didn’t need to do that. A lot of bad things happened to me at the Institute, but the scientists would never kill me. They need me alive. I’m their only successful experiment." 

“Did Shiro and Alfor get punished?”  

“That’s what worries me.” Keith chews on his bottom lip. “A few days after the guards discovered our plan, Shiro told me he was going to quit. He apologised to me for not being able to help, and then told me his phone number.” Keith shivers a bit at the memory. The day Shiro left him was one of the worst. As happy as he was that Shiro wouldn’t be working at such a horrible place anymore, a selfish part of him had felt betrayed. 

“And Alfor?” Lance almost sounds hesitant. “What happened to him?” 

“I have no idea. Shiro didn’t tell me and I never asked anyone. It’d seem suspicious if I did, so I just assumed they transferred him to a different project.” Keith shrugs. “Maybe he quit too. I kind of hope he did.” 

“You’re pretty amazing,” Lance says.  

Keith furrows his brows. Lance isn’t looking at him, but Keith can still see the glint in his eyes—the wonder, the awe, the respect. 

“Amazing?” 

“Yeah. You didn’t have Shiro or Alfor to help you, but you still managed to escape.” Lance shakes his head in disbelief. “The odds were against you, but you still pulled through.” 

“No, that’s…It was really just luck. That’s all.” 

“Don’t be so modest,” Lance chides. 

“I’m not.” Keith sits up a bit. “Shiro and Alfor might not have been there, but I still followed a bit of the plan they devised for me. So they still helped me, inadvertently. And it’s not just them…” Keith trails off, suddenly feeling flustered. 

_I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you._

“Fine, fine.” Lance rolls his eyes. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, slowing the car down as they reach a red light. “I’m gonna give you some advice.” 

Keith waits expectantly. 

Lance runs a hand through his hair. “My mother used to say this all the time, and I think you might benefit from it.” He looks Keith right in the eyes. “You need to stop thinking about the future and the past.” 

Well…of all the things Lance could’ve said, Keith definitely wasn’t excepting that. “I don’t do that,” he argues. 

Lance presses on the accelerator and the car hums in response. “Don’t lie. All you do is worry about what happened and worry about what _will_ happen. Seriously, just forget everything. Focus on the present.” 

“The…present?” Keith stares out the window again, uncertain. “I don’t think that’ll work.” 

“Trust me. It does. Think of it this way: what are we doing right now? We’re in a car and we’re driving. That’s it. You don’t need to worry about anything else.” 

“Yeah, I see what you mean, but we’re driving _to see Shiro_.” 

Lance sighs in exasperation. “Nope, nope. That’s part of the future. You aren’t allowed to think about that. Just focus on this moment, right now.” 

“The present,” Keith repeats. 

Lance smiles at him. “Exactly. Now, speaking of presents…” he smirks a bit, nodding toward the glove compartment in front of Keith. “Open it.” 

Keith does so, albeit hesitantly. Inside he finds a myriad of papers: bills, tickets, coupons, pamphlets. They fall to the floor, landing in a colourful heap on Keith’s feet.  

“Take out my wallet,” Lance says. 

Keith frowns. Lance’s wallet is old and worn. The edges are fraying and it feels bulky in his hand, as if it’s way too full. He holds it out to Lance, but Lance shakes his head. 

“Open it,” Lance instructs. “Take out my ID.” 

“Is this it?” Keith inspects Lance’s driver’s license. Lance is just as handsome and dazzling in the photo as he is in real life.  

“Ok, now take out the other ID. I put it in with mine.” 

“Whose is it?” Keith frowns as he surveys the other license. The guy in the photo is unfamiliar.  

“That’s your gift.” Lance beams. “Pidge got it for you.” 

“Pidge?” Keith can’t believe what he’s hearing. “She got me a _fake ID_?” 

“Well, she couldn’t get you a real one. That’d be too much work. But this is the next best thing!” 

Keith grits his teeth. "What did you tell her?" 

"Huh?" 

"Pidge thinks I'm your childhood friend. What's she going to think now that you told her to get me a fake ID?" 

"Well, I didn't tell her it was for _you._ I just told her that I need a fake ID...for a friend." 

Keith groans. 

"Stop overreacting!" Lance rolls his eyes. "Having a fake ID comes with a lot of benefits, you know." 

“Lance, it's illegal.” 

“Yeah, but if you think about it, your whole existence is illegal.” 

Keith squares his jaw, narrowing his eyes in a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Don’t get offended,” Lance says with a shrug. “It’s just that what they did to you at the Institute is illegal. They made you like this. So, as you are right now, you are an illegal creation.” 

Keith doesn’t really like hearing someone call him a ‘creation’ but he stays quiet. For now. 

“So,” Lance seems a bit panicky, trying to salvage this wreck of a conversation. “The fake ID is also illegal, which means we have two negatives. Two negatives make a positive, don’t they?” 

“You’re…” Keith frowns. “You’re seriously saying these words.” 

“Think about it!” Lance cries. “Two wrongs make a right. So as long as you have that fake ID, you’re fine.” 

“Lance, I stopped understanding you when you first mentioned the word ‘illegal.'” 

“Whatever. Just trust me, ok? I’m a law student, after all.” 

This piques Keith’s interest. “You are?” 

Now Lance is the one that’s offended. “What? I don’t look smart enough to be a law student?” 

“No. I’m just surprised. You never mentioned it before.” 

“Well, it’s true,” Lance says with a pout. “Sure, my grades aren’t perfect, but I got into the course, so that says something.” 

The gears in Keith’s brain start turning. Should he continue the conversation? Lance doesn’t seem too pleased to talk about his studies. In fact, Keith recalls many mornings where Lance seemed stressed about going to his classes. 

But he wants to know more about Lance. He wants to have a normal conversation for once; one that doesn’t revolve around Shiro or the guards or the Institute. 

He decides to try. “Is…Is it…” 

Lance tilts his head to the side; a sign he’s listening. 

“Do you like it?” Keith finally settles on. 

“I do,” Lance answers quickly. “Kind of. A little bit.” He pauses before sighing. There’s a sad smile on his lips. “Actually, I don’t really like it that much.” 

“Then why do it?” 

“My sister.” As he says it, his whole demeanour changes. Lance’s sad smile shifts to something happier, the edges of his lips tinged with bliss, eyes shining with fondness. “She’s a lawyer, so I just kind of wanted to follow in her footsteps. I wanted to be more like her.” 

“You have a sister?” 

“Yep.” Lance looks proud. “An older sister and an older brother.” 

“That’s nice,” Keith says gently. He ignores the twinge of jealousy that pricks him inside. He wants to have a family too—almost as much as he wants to be normal again. But he knows it won’t happen. You can only have one family, and Keith’s already lost his. 

“I didn’t want to study law,” Lance says. Keith relaxes at the change of topic. “I wanted to do something else. Like maybe science. Or even finance." 

Keith nods absently, not really sure what to say. “It must be annoying to study something you don’t like.” 

Lance shrugs. “It’s not like I _hate_ law, you know? I just never saw myself doing it. I knew I’d be taking a risk when I first started the course, but when you take a risk, you always hope to win, right?” Lance drops his voice down to a whisper. “Well, I ended up losing.” 

It’s ironic, Keith thinks, that a good person like Lance takes a risk and loses, while a monster like him takes the biggest risk of all to escape from the Institute and ends up winning. 

 

* * *

 

Keith stares at the door to Shiro’s apartment, raising a hand, poised to knock. He brings his knuckles close to the wooden surface but just before he makes contact, he pulls back. 

Lance groans. 

“Is this the right address?” Keith whispers. “Can we check again?” 

“We’ve checked already,” Lance sighs. “This is Shiro’s apartment.” 

Keith nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” He nods again and, once more, brings his hand up to knock.  

He pulls back. 

Lance groans and hits his head on the wall. 

Keith faces the elevator at the end of the hallway. “I’m going to go back down and—” 

“Just knock on the door already!” 

Keith glares over at Lance’s direction. “Stop rushing me!” He takes a deep breath and knocks gently on the door. 

He can hear the sound of footsteps, steadily growing louder as they get closer. As he waits for the door to open, Keith shifts from foot to foot, willing the adrenaline to go away. But it’s no use; no matter what he does, he still feels anxious and jittery. 

The knob turns, the hinges squeak, and the barrier between Keith and Shiro is suddenly gone. Keith stares up at his friend and a burst of calmness washes through him. He’s done it—he’s found Shiro. 

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice is just as he remembers, the steady timbre smooth and crisp.  

Keith smiles a little. “Shiro. It’s good to see you.” 

Shiro smiles back, relief flooding into his eyes. “I was really worried about you. I’m glad you got here safely.” 

Keith’s about to respond when he notices something a little…odd. There’s a scar on Shiro’s face, running right across his nose. He didn’t see it at first (and feels stupid for not doing so—how could he miss such an obvious scar?) but now that he has, he wishes he hadn’t. The very same jittery anxiousness he’d felt moments ago comes back; this time, it hits ten times harder.  

“Shiro, what happened?” Keith can’t keep the fear from his voice. “How did you get that scar?” 

Shiro glances to the side. “It’s a long story.” 

Keith is about to prod him some but stops when he looks down. Dread crawls out of the deepest corners of his mind, engulfing everything in its path with a thick, heavy darkness.  

“What happened,” his voice shakes, “to your arm?” 

“We should talk inside.” 

Keith feels like he’s going to topple over. He sways a bit but holds onto the doorframe to steady himself. “Was it the Institute?” 

“Keith,” Shiro’s almost begging, “let’s move inside.” 

“Answer me!” Keith steps forward, raising his head. His gaze is piercing. “They did this to you, didn’t they?” 

Shiro’s eyes dart off to the side. The action makes Keith growl in anger.  

“Keith?” It’s Lance’s voice. Keith faces him as he inches closer, tugging on Keith’s sleeve. “I…should I leave? I can wait in the car. I don’t want to intrude." 

“Stay if you want to,” Keith snaps. “I don’t care.” 

Shiro barely manages to step aside as Keith shoves past him. Lance walks into the apartment hesitantly, struggling with all the luggage but clearly trying not to show it. 

“You’re Keith’s friend?” Shiro asks. 

“Yeah.” Lance drops their bags by the door just as Shiro closes it. “He’s been staying with me ever since he got out.” 

Shiro glances over at Keith nervously. “I’m sorry about his behaviour.”  

“No, no,” Lance waves his hand, laughing awkwardly. “Uh…do you guys need some privacy? I know Keith said it was ok for me to stay, but if you—” 

“It’s fine,” Shiro insists. He smiles gently. “You’re a part of this now.” 

Keith pays no attention to their conversation as he sits on the sofa, arms folded over his chest because he can’t keep them from shaking. “Shiro, they did something to you. Tell me what happened.” 

Rather than taking the seat next to him, Lance perches on the armrest, looking very uncomfortable. Shiro joins them, sitting in an armchair, suddenly looking very tired. 

“I’ll tell you,” Shiro says. 

Keith's eyes burn as he looks at Shiro's arm—his right arm, the _different_ arm. It's clearly some kind of prosthetic, and the fact that Shiro even needs a prosthetic just screams "Galra Institute." 

"I haven't been honest with you," Shiro starts. 

Keith's trying really hard to calm down. "What do you mean?" 

Shiro lets out a long, tired sigh. His shoulders sag with the weight of his anxieties. "I didn't quit my job. I was fired." 

Keith flinches back. "Fired?" 

"Yes." Shiro leans forward until his arms rest on his knees. "I didn't want you to worry, so I lied. I'm sorry." 

"You should've told me." Keith furrows his brows.  

Shiro shakes his head. "Anyway...a few days after I quit, I was hit by a car." 

Keith has no words. 

"I was taken to a hospital," Shiro continues. "I knew what was going on. I knew this was the Institute's way of keeping me quiet. I guess they feared that I'd tell them about you and all their other experiments." Shiro laughs lightly. "No one would've believed me if I told them, so I didn’t really see the point in what they did.” 

Keith hears what Shiro's saying, and he understands what the words mean. But when Shiro starts stringing them together—when he says the words in this specific order—Keith just can't comprehend what he's saying. He tries his hardest to organise his thoughts, to keep the words in his grasp so that he can pause and think and _maybe_ try to understand. But the instant his mind recites the words back to him everything goes fuzzy around the edges, and then it all just disappears. 

"Then what happened?" Keith manages to say, despite his choking voice.  

Shiro hesitates to answer. "The doctors took care of me for a while. But the Institute sent someone to...finish the job." 

Keith knows he'll regret it, but he still asks. "Finish...the job?" 

"To kill me, Keith. They wanted to kill me." 

Keith's breath is stolen from his lungs. He can't believe what he's hearing. He doesn't want to believe it. Shiro almost died. Shiro almost died and _it's his fault._  

Lance stays quiet, staring at the floor.  

Shiro shifts in his chair. "I was lucky that the person they sent was Ulaz." 

Keith looks up at the name, eyes blazing with rage. "He was one of the scientists." 

"Yes, but he's a good person. He let me stay at his house for a few days. He found me this new apartment. He fixed my arm." Shiro wiggles the fingers on his right hand; the robotic digits move as smoothly as any human hand would. 

If the circumstances were different, Keith might be impressed by it. But right now, he can't help but feel disgusted; not at the hand itself, but at all the things it represents. Shiro’s robot arm is a brand; a mark of evil, a reminder of how powerless they all are against the Institute. To the Institute they’re nothing but toys; things to play with and tinker with and—eventually, when they find something better—discard. And it’s sad, but Keith knows then and there that he will never be able to look at that arm—perhaps, even, to look at _Shiro_ —and not think of the Institute.  

"He told the Institute that I was dead. That's why I'm using a new name. And it's why you couldn't contact me before." Shiro finishes his story, face solemn. 

Keith stares down at his own hands. Right now, he just can't look at Shiro. "I'm sorry." 

"Why're you apologising?"  

Keith swallows, hoping to get rid of the lump lodged in his throat. It doesn't work. "It's all my fault. If you didn't try to help me, none of this would've happened." His voice starts to waver. "You'd still have your arm. You'd have your old life." 

Shiro reaches out and grabs Keith by the shoulders. "I don't regret it, Keith. Helping you is the best thing I've ever done in my life." 

“But—” 

"No." Shiro's voice is firm. "I told you—I don't regret it." 

Keith nods slowly, more for Shiro's peace of mind than for his own. He ignores the fact that Shiro's touching him with his robot arm. He ignores the voice in his mind, screaming at the top of its lungs, _your fault, your fault, your fault—_

He needs to change the topic. "Shiro?" 

Shiro's already pulled away, sitting back in his armchair. "Yeah?" 

"How's Alfor? They didn't hurt him, right?" 

Keith's hands start to itch when he sees Shiro's face—torn, lost, broken. The answer to his question is right there, in the lines of Shiro's eyes and the way his mouth pulls down at the corners. 

Of course they did something to Alfor. Of course.  

"Was it a car accident?" Keith ventures to ask.  

"Keith..." Shiro's voice is quiet. "Alfor is dead." 

Once again, Keith knows what the word 'dead' means. It's a bad word; it has all sorts of negative connotations. It's a word that's usually said in a whisper, because it carries too much weight to be said any louder than that. Keith's heard it so many times, uttered in so many different ways. But he never thought it'd be said like this.  

"Dead?” He forces the word out, feels it soil his mouth and teeth and tongue, feels its jagged edges poke the inside of his cheeks. "He's dead?" 

"Yes. They sent an assassin but covered it up. Made it look like a suicide." 

"When...did it happen?" 

"The day I had my accident." 

Keith's head spins wildly. Part of him hopes this is all a bad dream, because there's this horrible _painful_ feeling in his chest, and he knows it's not going to go away—not now, not yet—and he doesn't want it. He doesn't want the pain; he's sick of it. He pinches his forearm and feels the sting. Feels the pain. 

There's a hand on his shoulder. Keith knows that it's Lance and that he's trying to comfort him but right now, Keith doesn't want to be comforted. He shifts slightly, slipping his shoulder out from under Lance's grip.  

"I know what you're going to say," Shiro starts. "But Keith, you need to listen to me. Alfor's death is not your fault." 

Keith's anger spikes. His hands itch even more, the fire burning beneath his skin. He balls his hands into fists. He's done enough damage; he doesn't need to do any more.  

"How can you say that?" he hisses.  

"Because it's the truth." Shiro raises his voice, speaking with conviction. "Alfor and I both knew the consequences that came with helping you. We knew that our lives were at risk. But I know for a fact that he doesn't regret it. Even if you hadn't managed to escape, he still wouldn't regret it. Believe me." 

Keith stays quiet for a long time. "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep." 

Shiro's eyes widen a bit in surprise. "Don't you want to talk about the cure?" 

Keith shakes his head. His face is wiped clear of emotion. "What's the point? Alfor is dead. He was the only one working on it." 

"That's true, but actually—” 

Keith stands up, walking to the doorway to pick up his bag. "Where're we sleeping?" 

Shiro frowns a bit but doesn't press the matter. "In the guest bedroom." He glances at Lance, who stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room, like a deer in headlights. "Come on, follow me." 

The room Shiro leads them to is small yet quaint. The decor is minimal and the colour scheme is calming. Lance seems to appreciate it, but Keith doesn't care much about the appearance.  

"The bathroom is next door," Shiro explains, "and my room is right at the end of the hallway. If you need something, don't hesitate to come ask." 

Keith hurls his bag at the floor while Lance—very gently—sets his bag on the bed. 

"Thanks, Shiro." Lance smiles tiredly.  

Shiro nods. "Sleep well, guys," he says as he closes the door. 

Keith collapses onto the floor, not even bothering to take a pillow from the bed or even change his clothes. He's numb all over, to the point where his limbs feel weird and foreign.  

"Uh...Keith? Don't you want to sleep up here on the—?” 

The bed is smaller than Lance's, but it could still comfortably fit them both. As tempting as soft blankets and pillows are, Keith is still notgoing to share a bed with Lance—especially not after today. How can Lance even stand to be around him?

"The floor is fine." 

Lance pauses. "Right. Ok. I'm just gonna go brush my teeth." 

Keith waits until Lance is gone before letting out a long, shuddering sigh.  

 

* * *

 

Keith can't sleep. His eyes feel heavy, as if they're being pulled down to the ground by an unseen force, and the only way to stop the feeling is to close them and rest. But he can't do it. He can't close his eyes. 

Behind him, Lance snores softly, his breaths steady and rhythmic. Lance also couldn't fall asleep at first, and he'd spent almost an hour tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. But, unlike Keith, he had eventually succumbed to slumber, the fatigue from having driven for most of the day becoming too much for his body to bear.  

Keith is tired. But when he closes his eyes, he sees a sleek black car barrelling down a road at top speed. He sees Shiro walking home, ignorant to his misfortune, ignorant to his imminent doom. He sees the car swerve and Shiro freeze, hears the screech of tires against asphalt, and then Shiro is unmoving on the ground. 

Keith is tired but when he closes his eyes, he sees Alfor working at his desk, white lab coat as pristine and immaculate as always. Keith reaches out, hand clasping Alfor's shoulder, but when he pulls his hand back it's covered in blood. Alfor's head lolls backward, red tears falling from his empty eyes. Then Keith sees more blood—lots of it. It gathers and pools, a flowing river of red, and Keith traces its path as it stains everything in death. 

So Keith keeps his eyes open, even going so far as to limit the number of times he blinks. He doesn't want to see those images; he'll do anything to keep them out of his mind. 

He rolls over to lay on his back. The room is covered with wooden floorboards, which aren't very comfortable. He swings his legs up a bit for momentum and rises to a sitting position. Keith takes a moment to collect himself, letting the sound of the traffic outside and Lance's breathing calm him. Then he stands and staggers to the door. It's hard to walk when you feel so tired, especially if you don't even feel like getting up and walking around. But it's easier to stay awake like this, so he forces himself to keep going. 

Keith walks slowly, the floor cold beneath his bare feet. He wonders aimlessly to Shiro's kitchen, fills up a glass of water, and gulps it down in one go. He sets the glass back in the sink but he doesn't move yet. His attention is fixated on the living room, because for some reason it looks different than it did before.  

The curtain that had been drawn closed is now open, revealing a glass door that leads to, what Keith assumes is, a balcony. He steps forward, ignoring the creak of the floorboards, and peers outside. He realises two things. First: he's right—the door _does_ lead to a balcony. And second: someone is out there. 

Keith narrows his eyes, trying to get a closer look, when the person turns around. The moonlight illuminates their face and, upon seeing who it is, Keith steps outside immediately. 

Shiro smiles as he approaches. "Can't sleep?" 

Keith sighs. "That's a dumb question. The answer is pretty obvious." 

Shiro chuckles lowly, leaning against the railing. Keith mimics his pose and doesn't bother filling the unsettling silence that encompasses them.  

"Listen," Shiro begins. "I know things haven't turned out the way we wanted them to, but the situation could definitely be worse." 

It's the wrong thing to say. "Worse?" Keith barks in disbelief. "You lost your _arm,_ Shiro. And Alfor lost his life. This is—” he shakes his head. "This is the worst. This is rock-bottom." 

"I could have died, too." 

Keith freezes. 

"You didn't think about that?" Shiro whispers.  

Keith breathes in sharply. "You don't understand." His voice is low. Pained. "You don't know what it's like to always hurt people. You didn't kill Alfor. His death isn't your fault." 

"It's not your fault either." 

"How can you say that?" Keith cries. "After all I've done...how can you even _look_ at me?" 

"Alfor and I knew what the risks were, Keith. We knew that we might get hurt or die. But we didn't care, because helping you was so much more important. Not just you, but all the others that were experimented on as well. We wanted to help you all." 

"Then why me? Why'd you choose to let me escape? You could've chosen someone else." 

"No," Shiro says. "Alfor was assigned to be one of your doctors. He wasn't assigned to anyone else. It would've been too suspicious if we chose another person." 

Keith stares down at the street below, his hands curling around the railing. "I hate this," he whispers. 

"I know," Shiro says. "I hate it, too." 

"We were so close." Keith's eyes burn with tears. "We were so close." 

Shiro shuts his eyes for a moment. "Alfor was a good man. I know he doesn't regret helping you. Please don't forget that." 

Keith nods stiffly. "Everything is...falling apart." 

Shiro's hand meets his shoulder and squeezes. "It's ok." 

"No," Keith protests. "Alfor died trying to help me, but his death was in vain. He died for nothing." 

"Don't say that. He died fighting for a cause that meant a lot to him." 

"I know," Keith says. "But now that he's gone, the cure is gone too." He frowns and tightens his hold on the railing. "If I knew this would've happened, I never would have agreed to the plan. If I'm going to be like this forever, I'd rather have you both be alive." 

Shiro sucks in a breath. "Keith, there is a cure." 

"Don't say that." Keith looks up at Shiro, eyes blazing. “Don’t lie just to make me feel better." 

"I'm not lying. There _is_ a cure. Alfor finished it before he died." 

Keith stands up straight, mouth opened in shock. "Really?" 

Shiro smiles. "You've underestimated Alfor. Did you really think he didn't have a backup plan?" 

"The cure is finished..." Keith says the words slowly, savouring the way they feel on his tongue. He gulps. "Do...you have it?" 

"I don't. But I know where it is." 

 

* * *

 

"Keith?" 

An annoyed groan. "What?" 

"I can't sleep." 

A sigh. "So?" 

"Talk with me." 

A frustrated huff. "Seriously, Lance, if you can't sleep just try counting sheep or something." 

"Come on, just humour me for once." 

Keith rolls over so that's he's laying on his back. Lance peers over the edge of the bed, the moonlight shining through the window casting shadows on his face.  

"You see?" Lance whispers. "You can't sleep either." 

"How would you know?" Keith snaps. Lance is, naturally, correct. They've been staying with Shiro for three days, and Keith hasn't been able to sleep at all. Sometimes he feels as if he's drifting off, but he ends up in a weird half-asleep, half-awake state of delirium, which only makes him feel worse. 

Lance rolls his eyes. "We share a room. I think I'd know whether you were asleep or not." 

Keith sits up, frustrated. "Fine." He turns on the bedside lamp. "Go ahead. Talk." 

Lance hisses, covering his eyes and turning away from the light. "Dude, what the hell? Are you trying to blind me? Warn me next time." 

Keith squares his jaw and crosses his arms. "Don't wake me up next time." 

"You weren't asleep, so technically— _technically—_ I didn't wake you up." 

"Whatever," Keith grumbles. He rubs his eyes.  

Lance twists around so that he's laying on his stomach. "So...are you nervous?" 

"For what?" 

"You know," Lance waves his arm. "For tomorrow." 

Keith's heart stutters a bit in his chest. "Oh. No, I'm not. Why would I be?" 

Lance hums. "You tell me." He runs his hand over his blanket, smoothing out the creases.  

"If anyone should be nervous, it's you. It'll take a few days to reach Allura’s house and you're the one that's driving." 

Lance purses his lips in thought. "I'm not nervous about driving. Irritated, yes. But nervous? Nope." 

Keith stays silent for a moment before asking, "What if she won't help me?" 

"She will." 

"If I was her I'd...I don't know," Keith sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think I'd want to help the guy that killed my father." 

"Hey," Lance reaches out as far as he can, poking Keith lightly in the shoulder. "You didn't kill Alfor. She's not going to blame you for his death." 

Keith pulls his legs toward his chest, huddling closer to the wall behind him. "Fine. If you say so." 

"You can't keep blaming yourself." 

 _Watch me_ , Keith thinks.  

"I know." He closes his eyes for a moment, begging his mind to just submit to the fatigue already, when he feels something jolt his arm. 

"Ow." 

"What the hell are you doing?" 

Lance winces, rubbing his back. "I was not expecting the bed to be so high up." He shifts, muttering a gentle 'excuse me’ as he leans over Keith to reach his bag. 

Keith's eyes widen and he resists the urge to shove Lance away. "Lance." His voice raises a bit. "What are you—” 

Lance pulls back, laptop in one hand and earphones in the other. "Let's watch a movie." 

"A movie? We should be resting." 

"I'm too restless to sleep and you’re—well, you're a lost cause."  

Keith glares at that. 

"You never know," Lance says. "Maybe the movie will make you tired." 

"I'm _already_ tired." 

Lance turns on his computer and starts setting everything up. “Here,” he says, shoving one of his earphones into Keith’s ear. 

Keith frowns as Lance shifts closer to him, setting the laptop down on the floor between them. “What movie is this?” 

“I…” Lance scratches his head. “I actually don’t know. Pidge is the one that downloads them. I just watch.”  

Lance seems fairly engrossed in the movie. He laughs when it’s funny, grips Keith’s arm when he gets scared (Keith always rolls his eyes at this and pretends to be annoyed, but he doesn’t mind), and whispers comments throughout in a voice that sounds a lot like a sports commentator. 

While Keith tries his hardest to focus on the movie, his mind starts drifting away. He’s just so… _tired._ Not just physically, but mentally as well. The past few days have been hectic; a pure roller coaster of emotions.  

He knows that he should be feeling happy. Yes, Alfor is dead and Shiro had almost been killed, but his quest _isn’t_ over. The cure is still out there—Alfor had given it to his daughter just before he’d died, and tomorrow Keith and Lance will leave to go and find her.  

“I have Allura’s address,” Shiro had told him. “And her phone number as well. You should give her a call before you go.” 

The thought of calling the daughter of the man he’d led to death made Keith want to throw up. His hands had immediately started to sweat and he shook his head. 

“It’s better if you call her,” he told Shiro.  

Shiro didn’t say anything, but Keith could see the disappointment in his eyes. He’d always hated that look. 

Keith doesn’t realise he has closed his eyes until he starts seeing a black car swerving and a river of blood. The smell of the air is pungent; a sick combination of metal, ash, and despair. The car drives faster and faster, the blood continues to gush, and Keith feels like he’s drowning.  

Then, he hears it. A pleasant voice, low like the wind, whispering in his ear.  

“Go to sleep,” the voice says. 

Something warm touches him, and all at once the river of red turns into an ocean of blue. The car is gone. Keith stops drowning. 

“Go to sleep,” the voice says again, and Keith submits to it. 

 

* * *

 

“Have you packed all of your luggage?” 

“Well, we didn’t have much to pack in the first place, but it’s all here.” 

“Do you have some water?” 

“Of course.” 

“Food?” 

“A couple of snacks.” 

“Money?” 

“We have enough. Don’t worry.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yep. I’m positive.” 

“Really, if you need some more, I can—”

“Shiro _,”_ Keith interrupts icily, leaning over Lance as far as his seatbelt will allow so he can face Shiro. “Would you stop interrogating him?” 

Lance laughs nervously, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. “Keith, it’s ok. Shiro’s just worried.” 

“It’s true,” Shiro nods sagely. “I’m especially worried about Keith because he’s so impulsive.” 

“ _Shiro!”_ Keith snaps. 

“What? Don’t deny it. There’s nothing wrong with being impulsive.” 

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Lance says, smiling.  

Keith huffs.  

“Thank you.” Shiro smiles back, ruffling Lance’s hair. “Take care of each other, ok?” 

“We will.” Lance turns the ignition and his car hums to life. “Bye Shiro!” 

Shiro taps the roof of the car as Lance is about to drive off. But before they leave, Keith meets Shiro’s gaze one last time and nods in thanks. Shiro’s smile is the last thing Keith sees before he and Lance drive off.

 

* * *

 

Lance takes a long sip of his milkshake, leaning back in the booth with one arm propped on the edge of the window and the other in his pocket. A waitress approaches timidly, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she sets down Lance's order of a burger with fries. 

"Thanks," Lance says, charming smile in place.  

"Y-You're welcome!" The waitress stutters, scurrying away, her cheeks bright red.  

Keith watches the exchange for a lack of anything better to do. They’ve only been on the road for an hour or two and Lance has already insisted on a break. Keith’s a bit annoyed, but he can’t be too harsh since he’s not the one that’s driving. 

Keith takes a bite of his own burger and grimaces. He sets it down, removes the top bun, and frowns at what he sees. 

"Pickles." He blurts out loud. 

This grabs lances attention. "Huh?" 

"I don't like pickles." 

"Just take them out." Lance shrugs. 

Keith can't believe what he's hearing. "Take them out? Are you crazy?" 

"No..." Lance says slowly. "But I'm starting to think you are." 

"I can't just take them out. The taste will still be there." 

Lance sighs in frustration. "There aren't many options left, buddy. Either take them out or get a new burger. Or...maybe we could..." 

Keith raises his eyebrows. "What?" 

"Here." Lance sets his own burger in front of Keith and takes Keith's for himself.  

"I don't want yours." 

"Don't worry. There’re no pickles in mine." 

"Oh...well, thanks. I guess." 

Lance rolls his eyes and bites down on Keith's (well, now it's his) burger. "Seriously, pickles aren't that bad. And even with the pickles, you can't deny this burger is really good." 

Keith stares out the window.  

"I wish I'd found out about this place sooner." Lance stops chewing and assesses the diner thoughtfully. "The food's really good, the atmosphere is nice, _and_ the waitresses are cute.” 

Keith sees a black car. 

"The only problem is this place is so far away from home. Like, I'd need to drive for a whole day to get here." He looks down at his burger. "And yeah, the burger is good, but it's not really worth the effort." 

A man steps out of the car, dressed in a black suit. He wears sunglasses. There's a scar on his cheek. Keith recognises him. 

"Oh God," Keith whispers. 

"What? Another pickle?" 

Keith swallows. His hands start shaking violently. 

Lance notices. "Hey," he leans forward in concern. "What's wrong?" 

Keith eyes the man in the suit, watching as he approaches the entrance to the diner. 

"It's a guard." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why but the even chapters are always harder to write... anyway, things will be getting more intense in the next chapter, so stay tuned for that ;)
> 
> thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed!!! :D


	5. Chapter 5

Keith assesses Lance's reaction. First, there's a mouth parted in shock and eyes shrouded in thinly-veiled disbelief. Then there's anxiety of the worse kind, the kind that slithers around and around, seeping into every open crevice it finds, burrowing beneath the skin, flowing through the veins. And finally, all those emotions are stripped away and all that's left is panic.

Keith wonders, perhaps, if he's actually looking in a mirror.

"What?" Lance hisses. "Are you serious?"

Keith doesn't reply. His head hurts so much, and all he wants to do is curl up into a ball and hide underneath the table. 

He needs a plan.

"Keith," Lance says, whispering. "Keith, buddy, what are we going to do?"

Keith needs a plan. 

"Do you think we could run for it? I mean...we can sneak past him. Right?"

Keith growls, slamming his fists on the table. "Would you just shut up for once?" he cries, bringing his hands up and massaging his forehead. "I'm trying to think."

Lance looks torn between shrinking back in his seat and spitting back a scathing remark. "Alright," he says in a voice that is too calm to be real. "But maybe think a bit faster, because he's literally about to walk in."

Keith curses. He looks up in alarm, feeling like an animal being chased by a hunter. He grits his teeth and stands up on shaky legs. "Come on."

He takes Lance's wrist and slips out of the booth. Lance stumbles at Keith's fast pace, ramming his hip right into the edge of the table as he clambers to his feet. He hisses in pain but manages to right himself.

Keith walks by tables and booths and waitresses rushing to serve customers, all the way down until they reach the end of the diner.

"Alright," Lance breathes out. "What now?"

Keith pushes open the door to the bathroom. "In here." He pushes Lance in first.

There are five cubicles in the bathroom. As Lance stands around, wondering what the hell he should do, Keith slams the door shut and locks it. It might not be much of a tactic, but it'll at least buy them some time.

"Shouldn't we be trying to get _out_ of the diner?" 

"That's what we're going to do."

"Huh. Ok. Ok, in that case, I can _totally_ see why you've locked us in here. Solid plan." 

Keith opens the door to the third cubicle. There's a window above the toilet—a window that leads outside. If they can pry it open, they can get out.

"The window," Keith says, pointing to it. "Can you get it open?"

Lance's eyes widen. "The window!" He rushes over, sets down the toilet lid and climbs on top. While he busies himself with opening the latch, Keith quickly locks the cubicle door. 

He starts getting anxious. "Come on," Keith says. "Hurry up."

Lance's face is twisted in concentration. "I'm trying," he snaps. He groans in frustration, trying again and again to open the latch.

Keith's about to push him aside and do it himself when Lance cries out in triumph. "Got it!"

Lance pushes the window down and pokes his head out. “Oh, shit."

Keith freezes in alarm. "What?"

"It's just...kind of high." 

"Just don't look down." Keith glances back in alarm, even though he can't see outside the cubicle. A shiver crawls up his spine; he feels as if the guard is breathing down his neck. "Hurry up."

"Ok," Lance says, more to himself. "Ok. I can do this." He pauses for a moment, putting a foot through and then drawing it back with a shake of the head. Then he tries to manoeuvre both an arm and a leg through the window, but the window is too small for that. 

The doorknob starts to rattle. "Lance," Keith says, voice rising in urgency.

Lance looks back in alarm. "Don't worry, I'm going."

Keith bits down on his lip, hard. His whole body thrums with a horrible, nervous energy. He feels jittery and he wonders if it shows in his voice or in his movements. Is his walk as fluid as normal? Is his stance tall and confident? Is his voice calm?

_Probably not._

There's a loud crash as the guard starts kicking at the door. Keith knows they're running out of time; there's no way they're both going to get out of here.

"Step back," he says, grabbing hold of Lance's jacket.

Lance almost falls over as Keith pulls him off the toilet. "What the hell?" he shouts.

Keith steps up, grabs the window ledge, and easily jumps out.

"Keith?" Lance asks. "Keith!" His voice is laced with panic. "Seriously, what the hell—”

Keith grits his teeth as he hauls himself up so that his face is visible to Lance. "I'm still here."

Lance pauses. Then, "What are you doing out there?"

"Stay there and be quiet." The loud banging noise from outside the bathroom continues to grow louder. The guard will be here soon. "I'm not leaving you. Just trust me."

Before Lance can even reply, Keith disappears from view. He's still holding on to the window ledge, hanging on tightly, feet hovering a metre or two above ground. He doesn't know why Lance was so scared—this isn't a high drop, not in the least (well, to him it isn’t). He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the burn in his arms. He puts his feet up on the wall, pushing to get some leverage. He makes sure his elbows and knees are bent as he waits in this uncomfortable position. Then he closes his eyes and tries to calm down.

For the past few weeks, he'd been so scared of something like this happening. Even now, he's still scared. It feels almost like the night he escaped. But it isn't. On that night, he fought to be free. On that night, he was saved. Now he’s already free, and he doesn't need to be saved anymore. Lance, however, probably cannot fight. Even if he could, Keith wouldn't want him to; not against the guards.

Not for him. 

He keeps this thought in his mind as the door to the bathroom finally gives way and the guard walks in. Keith has someone to protect now, and if he can't stay calm for himself, he can at least try to stay calm for _him._  Because someone like Lance, someone so kind and pure, should never wash his hands in the red pool Keith bathes in.  

The guard’s footsteps echo in the silent bathroom. Keith strains to hear, trying to pinpoint where he is, when there’s a loud, resounding _crash._  

Lance yelps and Keith’s heart goes into overdrive. The guard has kicked open the door to Lance’s cubicle. 

“Kid,” the guard says roughly, “where’s your friend?”

Lance barely manages to stutter out an answer. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Where is he?” the guard says with a low snarl. “Don’t lie. I know he’s here. I saw the two of you.”

“I don’t know,” Lance blurts. “I mean…I think he left, or something, so maybe—”

A gasp rips free from Lance’s throat as the guard grabs him by the collar. Keith shakes in silent rage and decides it’s time for him to make his entrance.

Keith tightens his hold on the edge of the window, pushes away from the wall with his feet, and with a sudden burst of strength, he propels upwards. 

He soars through the window, floating in the air, like a majestic bird hunting for its prey. It’s at this point—the highest point of his flight—that he resigns himself to gravity. He feels strong. He feels powerful. He feels untouchable. Not even this pesky guard can do him harm when he’s up here, borrowing strength from gravity itself. He is invincible.

Then, with a gentle whisper, gravity asks for its power back. _Not now,_ Keith thinks. He waits for a bit, until he’s positioned directly above the guard. And then he gives the power back. 

Keith starts to fall. The guard must see the crazy sheen in his eyes, because for a second he seems too startled to move. He backs away but it’s too late. Keith holds his arms out, lets out a cry, and tumbles into the guard.

They land on the ground, a tangle of limbs. Keith is the first to detach himself, rolling away and springing to his feet, lithe and ready to fight.

“Lance!” he shouts. “Get behind me!”

Lance is still huddled up on the toilet. He stands up shakily and rushes out of the stall. But as he moves, the guard sticks his hand out, pudgy fingers curling over Lance’s ankle. Lance yelps as he falls, arms flying out in a futile attempt to stop his descent. 

The guard groans as he gets up. He spits off to the side. “Stupid kids,” he mutters, staggering to his feet.

Keith takes hold of Lance’s arm and pulls him up. Lance pants as he stumbles a bit, holding onto Keith’s shoulders for support.

“Listen,” Keith says lowly. “Make sure you stay behind me.”

Lance frowns, glancing uneasily over to the guard. “But—”

Keith ignores him, instead turning his focus back on the guard. He tries to ignore his surroundings, tries to ignore the pressure of needing to protect Lance, tries to ignore his _fear._ He settles in a fighting stance; knees slightly bent, feet apart, hands balled into fists, arms up. The guard gets in his own stance; haughty and overconfident. 

“What do you want with me?” Keith barks. “Why are you here?”

The guard scoffs. “I think you already know.”

No one moves. Lance—following Keith’s advice for once—lingers back, standing near the sinks. Keith holds his position, feet rooted to the ground, analysing and assessing with a critical eye. The guard doesn’t move either, save for his lips which curl up into a sickening grin.

“We don’t have to fight,” he says. “If you agree to come with me, I won’t lay a hand on you.” He turns to look at Lance. The edges of his mouth quiver. “Or your friend.”

Keith attacks. He swings his right arm out in an arc but the guard easily dodges. He swings again and the guard ducks under his arm. The guard throws his leg up in a kick, aiming for Keith’s chest, but Keith steps back and drops down low, out of trajectory. He quickly rolls to the side, trying to divert the fight as far away from Lance as he can.

The guard charges at him, teeth bared, eyes narrowed. He swings again and this time he lands a hit. Keith’s body twists to the side, his hand shooting up to hold onto his now aching cheek. He then brings his hand to his mouth, pretending to wipe away some blood. The guard now thinks he has the advantage. Keith doesn’t mind; if anything, it’s better like this. People tend to get sloppy when they believe themselves to be superior.

His heart hammers away, adrenaline pumping through his legs, and in an instant, he’s standing behind the guard. Keith feels him tense as he jumps up in an effortless kick, aimed for the guard’s head. This time, Keith doesn’t miss.

The guard falls, breathing heavily as he lands on his stomach. Keith toes him with the tip of his shoe and then shoves him onto his back.

“Are there others?” he asks calmly.

The guard’s eyes swim with emotion. Keith sees so much in those ugly, ugly irises; a burst of anger, a hint of hatred, and beneath all that, a tiny bit of fear. He wonders if he’ll be able to see his own reflection in those eyes. Wonders what kind of expression he’d see reflected back at him.

“What?” the guard groans.

Keith leans down a bit and shoves his foot on the guard’s chest. The guard bites back a scream and his fear only seems to amplify as Keith opens his palm and lets a flame dance around his fingers.

He's tempted to look over at Lance, not just to check if he’s ok, but to see what he looks like right now in Lance’s eyes. The Keith reflected in the guard’s glassy eyes is cruel. He is harsh and mean, all sharp edges and red lines and bursts of orange, scalding flames. But maybe the Keith in Lance’s eyes is different. Maybe he’s rounder and softer, less dangerous, more vulnerable. More human. 

“Are there others?” Keith repeats. The itch beneath his skin grows as the fire inside licks at him, begging to be released, begging him to let more out.

Before it even happens, Keith knows he’s going to be hit. He knows because the guard’s face shifts in panic, in desperation. Despite the warning, the punch to the face still hurts. Keith ignores it, jerking his hand back as the guard grabs his wrist and tries to flip their positions. A flame springs to life in Keith’s free hand, and he doesn’t hesitate to place it over the guard’s face.

The guard screams, Keith starts shouting, and they roll over on the floor. Neither one of them lets go, instead clinging stubbornly— _stupidly—_ to the other. Keith’s left hand burns and burns, while the guard’s grip on his right hand tightens. He manages to pin the guard down, his knees poking harshly into the guard’s flesh. They continue to struggle and writhe on the floor when Keith sees a flash of blue from the corner of his eyes.

“Stop!” Keith shouts. “Lance, don’t leave!”

Lance freezes, hand hovering near the doorknob that leads outside. “I’m going to get help.”

“No…” Keith grits out, eyes flaring. “There are probably others…out there…”

Lance steps away from the door, eyes downcast. His hands shake slightly, but he balls them into fists and the shaking stops. Without any hesitation, Lance pushes Keith out of the way. Keith skids on the floor, barely managing to orient himself. The guard is up on his feet in an instant, striding toward him. Keith braces for the attack, but it does not come. Instead, one of the garbage bins in the corner of the room is on the guard’s head. 

“Now!” Lance shouts.

Keith swings his legs out, toppling the guard to the floor. The instant the guard’s knees hit the smooth white tiles, Lance kicks the bin on his head. As the guard sways, Keith grabs him by the back of his suit, dragging him around as if he were a sack of dirt, and slams him—bin and all—into the nearest sink. Panting, he does it again and again, until there’s a firm hand on his arm.

“I think that’s enough…”

Keith snaps his attention over to Lance, but he doesn’t look into his eyes.

“Come on,” Keith says. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

“Ok…that was crazy.”

Keith leans back in his seat, panting heavily. Spots of light blind his vision and he blinks furiously to get them away. “I know.”

“How—how did he find us?” Lance bites down on his lip. He hides it well, but Keith can sense the waves of anxiety that roll off of him. 

“I…have no idea.”

“Do you think it was me? You know, when I tried calling Shiro?”

Keith lets out a long sigh, trying to ignore the way his injuries throb. He winces as he touches his hand, trying to be as gentle as possible. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“The guy we saw in the parking lot…maybe he _was_ a guard. He told them, and that’s how they found us.” 

“Lance,” Keith says in a low hiss, frustration bubbling over. He feels guilty the instant he uses the tone, but he can’t help it. He just wants to forget everything for a moment, but he can’t do that with Lance’s constant chatter. “I don’t know,” he says, much quieter.

Silence. Keith focuses on the hum of the car’s engine as they drive along, willing his mind to relax. His head absently lolls to the side and he catches a glimpse of Lance’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Lance.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re driving too fast.”

“Huh?” Lance turns to him in surprise and glances at the speedometer. He curses. “I didn’t notice. Thanks for telling me.”

“You should pull over for a bit.”

“Are you crazy? We need to keep driving. He could still be after us.”

“I doubt it. We can spare a few minutes anyway. You…you shouldn't drive in that condition.”

Something sparks in Lance’s eyes, something wild and hurt and also a little dangerous. But it dissipates so fast Keith wonders if he actually saw it or if he imagined it. “I’m ok. Scared, but ok. I just didn’t think they’d find us.” He smiles a little. “It wasn’t all bad. At least I got to see you fight.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Lance says, smiling wider. But when his eyes drift over to the rearview mirror, the smile wipes clean off his face. “Shit.”

Keith spins around in his seat, eyes narrowing into slits as he tries to make out what Lance saw. Deep down, he knows what it is, but a part of him still hopes he’s wrong. He watches as two black cars—identical to the one he first saw at the diner—appear in the distance, clearly intent on chasing them.

“Drive faster,” Keith orders. Lance’s eyes widen a bit and Keith feels the panic start to settle on him, like a lead weight. “Drive faster!”

Lance obeys, pressing down on the accelerator. The car lurches forward, and Keith grips tightly to the seat so as to not get jostled too much. 

“There’re two cars,” Lance says. “ _Two cars._ What do we do?” 

“Just keep driving.”

“We can’t keep running forever!” Lance shakily faces Keith, and the dangerous sheen in his eyes is back. This time it doesn’t disappear, and Keith stares at it with a mixture of apprehension and awe. “They’ll just keep calling more and more guards. We need to get rid of them.”

“How the hell are we going to do that?” Keith demands. “Do you want to fight them?”

“No! No, I just…there has to be another way.”

Keith pauses for a moment. It’s scary to fight the guards, and he’d prefer to try and evade them, but they just keep crawling back like persistent insects. 

“Pull over."

“…What?”

“Stop the car.”

“Are you insane? Why would I stop when there’s—”

“I’ll fight them.”

“No. It’s too much of a risk.”

“I know. But I’m willing to take it.”

Keith looks into Lance’s eyes—begging, imploring. “You said it yourself,” he continues. “We all hope to win when we take a risk.”

Every few seconds Lance looks back at the two looming cars and sucks a breath through his teeth when he sees how close they are. He’s about to look back again when Keith catches his shoulder. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have given you any advice,” Lance whispers. “But I guess this is the only way, huh?”

“It is.”

Lance’s voice is high strung and flaky when he laughs again. “Keith, I hate you so much right now.” He steers the car to the left, veering off the road and onto a field of grass. 

“I know.”

“Oh, God…I can’t believe we’re doing this."

Keith knows Lance is scared. He’s scared as well, because now that he’s free, he has everything to lose. At the end of the day, he’ll either be sitting in this exact position, watching Lance drive, or he’ll be back in his cold room at the Institute. He hopes with every fibre of his being that it won't be the latter.

"Follow me," Keith says, quickly getting out of the car. 

"Hold on—! W-wait for me!" 

 

* * *

 

When it comes to fighting, Keith has always preferred facing his opponents in a large, open space. As he looks around the dark warehouse he and Lance are hiding in, he realises this place is definitely not ideal for a showdown. But perhaps a showdown isn't the best plan. Perhaps there's something else he can do.

Lance glances around wildly. As the large, metal framed racks surrounding them creak and groan, Lance jumps in alarm and shuffles a bit closer to Keith.

"You'll fight them here? Are you _crazy_?" 

Keith opens his mouth to respond when the doors to the entrance (and, as such, the only exit) open. Voices flood inside, rough and loud and commanding. They reverberate throughout the room, making the guards' presence all the more intimidating.

Lance's eyes widen and his mouth opens. Just before he can so much as even utter a squeak, Keith covers his mouth.

"Stay calm," Keith instructs, voice low. "Go to the very back and hide somewhere."

Lance pries Keith's hand away. "You want me to hide? What about you?"

Keith narrows his eyes. "I'll take care of them."

"By yourself?"

"I've done it before."

"Keith..." Lance bits his lip, eyes swimming with concern. "I mean...maybe if..."

"Seriously, just go hide somewhere. I'll get you when they're all gone."

Keith nods once and stands up straight. He turns to leave back in the direction they came from, but a hand on his arm keeps him in place.

"You don't have to do this," Lance says. His voice is surprisingly strong. "Not by yourself."

The warehouse is dark, but the tiny stream of light shining through one of the cracks in the roof is more than enough to illuminate Lance's eyes. Keith loses himself in those blue orbs, his resolve slowly being sapped away by an ocean of cobalt. He gulps, trying to find a reason to look away. He can't find one.

"You can't fight." The words finally drag themselves from his mouth. "It's better if I do this alone."

"Are you sure?"

It's always hard to be strong in front of Lance when he's like this—imploring, worried. Brave. Keith takes a step back and tells himself to keep going. Tells himself to take another. He continues until he's out of Lance's reach.

"Go hide," Keith says again, for the last time.

He doesn't wait for a response and plunges into the shadows.

 

* * *

 

There are four guards in this warehouse. It would be difficult—and also, _really stupid—_ to fight them all at once. As Keith sneaks around, staying close to the racks and low to the ground, he hears footsteps coming from the aisle next to his. 

He knows what to do: divide and conquer.

The guards have already spread out, each of them assigned to a specific section of the warehouse. The divide step is already complete. Now Keith just needs to conquer.

Some of the racks are completely empty, while others are full of boxes. Keith supposes he's lucky, because the rack that stands between him and the guard has just enough boxes so that he can hide, but not too much so that he wouldn't be able to move around at all. 

He quickly looks over his shoulder and then moves in between a few boxes, hiding in the large rack. He takes slow, cautious steps, making sure he isn't too loud. The guard creeps forward calmly, and Keith notices he's holding something in his hand. 

He steps into the light and Keith sees what it is. 

A gun.

Keith bites down on his lip as the guard passes him. The gun will probably just be used to hurt him—they’d never kill him—but he still isn't a fan of getting shot. Guns are loud, devastating weapons. Keith's never liked them. 

The guard continues to walk, completely oblivious to Keith, who has now emerged from his hiding spot and is right behind him. When he's at a good enough distance, Keith springs up and wraps an arm around the guard's neck.

The guard starts to struggle against him, body moving wildly as he tries to get free. He opens his mouth to call out, but Keith quickly muffles his cries with his hand. 

The guard elbows him in the stomach and Keith winces, resisting the urge to double over. Instead of loosening his hold on the guard's neck, Keith tightens it and, with his free hand, reaches into the guard's back pocket.

The guard writhes, swinging his arms around frantically, trying to connect his hands and elbows with Keith's head and stomach. Keith grunts, suppressing a wheeze as his hand finally closes around the thing he was looking for. He knows that all guards carry it because they've used it against him many times.

He yanks the object toward his mouth and bites the cap off. The guard realises what's going and tries to retaliate. Tears spring in Keith's eyes as the guard bites down on his hand. In a moment of weakness, he draws his arm back. The guard falls forward, mouth opening to cry for help. But it's too late; he barely manages to form a single syllable when a needle stabs his neck. 

His eyes widen, his jaw goes slack, and then his body loosens up. Keith can't help but feel a little sympathetic; he knows the struggle of being sedated, knows the struggle—the feeling of being powerless—as your body becomes unresponsive while your mind tries to fight it. The guard's eyes reflect his internal struggle; his own personal war. But it's a futile battle. Once the sharp needle breaches your skin, the victor is already decided. And it's not you. It's never you.

The guard's breaths become shallow, and Keith knows it's time. The sedative won't kill, but it will put him out of commission for a few hours; more than enough time for Keith and Lance to get away. 

He drags the guard's body behind a large pile of boxes and stands up.

One down, three to go.

 

* * *

 

The second guard is the first to find Keith; he sneaks up close and grabs him from behind.

Much like Keith had in his previous fight, this guard also makes hasty work as his hand goes into his pocket. Keith struggles for a while, but as the syringe comes closer and closer to his neck, he goes slack. He can hear the guard make a low sound in his throat, as if in confusion. And then the guard's grip loosens the slightest bit. 

Keith slips under his arms immediately. He grabs the arm that was just around his neck and swings the guard in an arc. The guard loses his footing, and Keith uses the momentum to spin around and bring his knee into his stomach. The guard starts to retch and doesn't even notice the prick in his neck until he looks up, eyes watering, and sees Keith standing over him, syringe in hand.

"You..." The guard gasps, chest heaving. His hand flies to his neck as he struggles to breathe. "You..."

He falls unconscious, words dying on his tongue. Keith quickly grabs him and hides him, thankful for all the boxes around. He quickly goes into hiding himself; that fight was a bit too noisy, so he wouldn't be surprised if someone heard it. He takes to crawling around on the floor, sticking to the places where there are more than enough boxes to provide ample cover from the guards.

Just as he's about to creep over to another aisle, he hears voices. Keith tenses up, freezing in place, trying to figure out which direction the sounds are coming from. What strikes him as odd is that he doesn't hear any footsteps; only voices.

He looks back over at the unconscious guard he just dealt with. The voices are coming from his headset.

Two distinct voices.

Two remaining guards.

"...not responding...got to them?"

"Probably...beat them...doesn't matter...take him..."

"But...wrong...sure?"

"We...not...empty hand—”

The voices stop. Keith frowns, trying to piece together the few words he could hear. His mind whirs as he tries to process everything, and then a cold, sinking dread clings to his skin as he realises.

"Keith! Keith!"

He's up on his feet in an instant, sprinting as fast as he can toward the voice. Screw sneaking around. Screw hiding. 

Lance needs help. 

"Keith!"

He's never heard Lance sound like this; so weak and fragile and _scared_. Keith runs faster than he ever has in his life. The last time he ran like this was when...when was it? The night he escaped? The night he snuck out to a phone booth and couldn't contact Shiro? He can't remember the details, but he can remember his emotions. He can remember the fear. 

But this...this is much scarier. This is so much worse.

Keith bursts outside, looking around frantically, trying to find Lance. He sees him in the distance, kicking and shouting as the two remaining guards hold him—one on each side—and drag him to one of their cars. 

"Hey!" Keith shouts, taking off after them. "Let him go!"

Lance goes slack for a moment, his eyes widening when he sees Keith approach. Then he starts to kick harder, desperately trying to break free.

Keith's a fast runner, but even he won't be able to reach Lance in time. Lance will need to break free from the guards' vice-like grip on his own. Then, he needs to run away from them, toward Keith, toward safety. Then Keith will take them on, fight them, _defeat_ them, and save Lance. He'll save Lance. He'll save—

Lance's body goes slack as one of the guards punches him in the temple. Keith feels his head go light as the realisation dawns on him. He isn't going to make it. 

He runs. He runs because maybe he _will_ make it. He runs because he can't allow himself to think otherwise. He runs because he can't lose Lance, not like this, _not to them._  

Lance gets ushered into one of the cars. Keith watches as they drive away. 

He stops running. 

 

* * *

 

Keith doesn't realise he's on his knees until he looks down and notices the ground is a lot closer than it should be. A wave of dizziness washes over him and he leans forward, resting his hands on the dirt and grass beneath him, and tries to take a breath. 

Nausea pushes and pulls, leaves him reeling. He tells himself to stand up, but he can't do it; can't even _bring himself_ to do it. He loses track of time, kneeling in the dirt, trying to get up but giving up each time.  

He doesn't remember what it is that finally spurs him up, doesn't remember how he even started walking. It feels as if one moment he was on the ground, then he blinked and suddenly he's in front of Lance's car.

He's in front of Lance's car.

Lance's car.

_Lance._

He kicks the car. He kicks the tires, punches the bonnet and boot and roof, slams his hands on the windows, and he screams. He screams in anger, in rage. In agony. He screams at himself. He screams for Lance.

He gets in the driver's seat and slams the door shut with so much force the windows start to rattle. Inside the car, everything is the same as it had been a few moments ago, as if he and Lance had never abandoned it in favour of hiding in the warehouse. The keys are still in the ignition; in his haste to get out, Lance must've forgotten to take them. Keith sniffs, starting the car up. The car sputters a few times before growling to life, as if it doesn't want Keith in the driver's seat. 

He places his hands on the steering wheel and realises how _wrong_ it feels to be sitting here instead of Lance. He stares ahead, down the road, wondering if he'd be able to catch up to the guards. He knows it's a bad idea. He knows it's a really bad, stupid idea; they’re probably way ahead of him by now. Instead, he should try to get back to Shiro. But it feels weird to just turn around and drive away; it feels like he's admitting defeat, like he's _letting_ them have Lance. 

Keith grits his teeth and presses his foot on the accelerator. His hands shake as he turns the steering wheel around, directing the car back to the road—toward Shiro's apartment. 

_I'm sorry,_ he thinks.  

_I'll come back for you._

 

* * *

 

Keith has never driven before, so it's no surprise his driving is a bit erratic. The anger inside only gets worse when he gets honked at by the other frustrated drivers, but he doesn't care; the anger is the only thing keeping him together. When he's angry, he can do anything—face anything. 

An hour into his journey, he'd found his fake ID. He'd actually been searching for a map and had found the stupid gift from Lance instead. Keith had glared at the plastic card, rolled down his window, and thrown it out. 

Let a police officer see his bad driving. Let them pull him over and ask for a licence. Let them put him in cuffs and guide him to their car when he tells them he doesn't have one. Let them realise who he is and take him back to the Institute. Let them take him to Lance.

Keith grits his teeth when he sees a red light. The cars around him start to slow down, but he speeds up and drives straight through it. This time, he not only gets a couple of angry honks, but one driver even rolls down his window and shouts a few choice words.

Keith savours those words, lets his ears absorb them and his brain devour them. As long as he's angry, he can't feel sad. As long as he's angry, he can't feel the pain. 

 

* * *

 

"Keith? What are you doing here?"

Keith brushes past Shiro and into his apartment, trying to remain composed. Composed actually isn't the right word—distracted is a better fit. He's been ignoring the burning, throbbing, aching pain inside, pushing it away and replacing it with anger and irritation. Now he's with Shiro, and he thought he'd be ok. He thought he'd be able to speak without choking, or without shaking, but seeing the concern etched on Shiro's face makes him feel weak.

"What's wrong?" Shiro isn't dumb; he can obviously tell something horrible has happened. "Where's Lance?" he continues.

That's what finally breaks him.

"They found us," Keith whispers. "They took him."

"What?"

"The guards," Keith grits out. "They found us. And I was—we were running, and then—I thought I could, but I couldn’t—and they _took him."_  

Keith can't breathe. It hurts to inhale, hurts to exhale, and _ah, there it is,_  the pain bursting in his chest, ripping him apart. His legs give out first, forcing him to kneel on the floor. He shakes and pants and tries to keep himself together, but the pain is cruel and unyielding.  

"Hey, calm down. Breathe with me."

Keith doesn't think he deserves to breathe, but Shiro starts rubbing his back and he can't help it—he draws in a breath. It shudders on its way in, stutters on its way out, but Shiro is still rubbing his back so he keeps going. He might not deserve to breathe, but he deserves to feel pain—even if he doesn't want it. And breathing has never hurt so much.

"So...they took Lance?" Shiro asks after a while, voice gentle. 

Keith nods, feeling numb all over. "Yeah," he croaks. "I told him to hide and...I let my guard down. They found him before they found me."

Shiro sighs. "They're monsters. I'm not surprised they'd do this."

Keith clenches his fists. "They should've taken _me._ Not him. Why...why did they—?” 

Shiro stands up, wraps an arm around Keith's shoulders and guides him to the sofa. "I...don't know."

"You were a guard," Keith says. He looks into Shiro's eyes and pretends to see confidence rather than anxiety. "Don't you have an idea? Did...they run out of experiments?"

Shiro sighs again. “Honestly, sometimes I think that they”—he looks at his right hand—“do bad things like this just for fun.”

“We need to save him.”

“Keith…”

Keith stands up, his shadow falling over Shiro. “We need to save him! It’s my fault he got taken away, so I need to fix it!”

Shiro leans back a bit, raising his arms as if in surrender. “Calm down, alright? It—”

Keith’s lip curls into a grimace. “Don’t say it’s not my fault. You won’t blame me for your hand or Alfor’s death, but there are no excuses for this. Lance…he should never have helped me. He should have left me on the side of the road.”

“We’ll save him,” Shiro assures with a nod. “But we can’t rush things. We need to take some time to think of a plan.”

“But he’s—!”

“I know,” Shiro says softly. He pats Keith on the knee. “But Lance is strong. You trust him, don’t you?”

The words feel like a stab to the heart. “Of course.”

“Then trust that he’ll be ok.”

“We can’t just leave him there, Shiro! What if they do something to him?”

“Keith, listen. I think this might be a trap. They probably took Lance because they know you’ll come to save him. They’re using him to lure you back.”

“Well, their plan is working, because I’m going to—”

As Keith tries to stand up, Shiro pushes him back down. “Listen,” he says lowly. “I promise you that we’ll save him. But not now. Not when we’re both so shaken. We need to calm down and think of a plan. We’ll rescue him in a few days.”

“A few _days_?” Shiro doesn’t stop him from standing up now. “We can’t leave him there for so long! He—what if he thinks we’re abandoning him?" 

“He trusts you,” Shiro says resolutely. “He knows you’ll come for him.”

_He trusts you._ Keith’s knees go wobbly and he forces himself to sit back down. “He shouldn’t trust me.” His smile is wry. “He shouldn’t have saved me…”  

“Lance wouldn’t want you to think like that.”

Keith ignores him. “I still don’t know why he saved me when I escaped."

Shiro stays silent for a moment, and Keith wonders if he’ll even respond, when suddenly he smiles. “You can ask him once we rescue him.”

Keith takes a breath, holds it, and slowly exhales. “Ok.”

“Go to sleep,” Shiro says, patting his shoulder. “We’ll think of a plan tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

Tomorrow comes and—as Shiro had assured—they start to think of a plan.

It isn’t going so well. 

“Somehow, we’ll have to sneak in…” Shiro trails off, tapping his pen on his notepad. “I still have my old guard uniform.”

“You can’t use that,” Keith argues. “What if they recognise you?”

“There’s a chance they will, but it’s better than forcing our way in.”

Keith bites down on his lip. “If I go alone…”

Shiro interrupts immediately. “No. I won’t let you do that. We’re going to save him together."

“It’s me they’re after. Maybe I should just take Lance’s spot. They won’t have any use for him, right?”

“That’s—”

Someone's knocking on the door. 

Keith's up on his feet immediately. He shoots an uncertain glance in Shiro's direction and is about to go see who it is when a voice stops him.

"I'll go check," Shiro says with a small smile. His eyes betray his calm facade. 

Keith braces himself, his entire body ablaze with the desire to fight. He hopes some guards will be on the other side of the door, just so he can get some revenge.

Shiro looks through the peephole, mutters something to himself, and opens the door. A few small flames light up on Keith's fingertips, and he's about to step around the corner when he hears a voice. 

"Is Keith here?"

Keith pauses in shock. "Pidge?"

"Keith?" Pidge asks, raising her voice.

Keith rushes toward the front door, ignoring the look of confusion on Shiro's face. "Pidge! What are you doing here?"

"Oh, thank God you're here!" Pidge rushes forward, wrapping her arms around Keith in a hug. He has barely enough to time to realise what's going on—let alone hug her back—when she's pulling away. "I was really worried about you guys."

Keith swallows. Guys—as in, he and Lance.

"Shiro," Pidge says, spinning around. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Pidge."

"Ah, you're the one that helped Keith find me." Shiro smiles. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Sorry for coming here so suddenly." Pidge shifts a little—she almost looks embarrassed. "I was worried something bad happened. Lance hasn't been responding to any of my messages."

Keith's heart sinks to the floor. "...Messages?"

Pidge nods, taking out her phone. "We message each other every day. Lance is usually the one to initiate the conversation, but he hasn't replied. But what's even more concerning is I can't track him."

"Track him?" Shiro asks.

"Yeah. I installed an app on his phone that lets me see where he is. I mean, he can also see where I am, so it's not like I'm using it to stalk him. We don't even really use it much, but I thought it would be useful now that he's travelling with Keith. But..." Pidge frowns. “For two days now, I haven’t been able to locate him. He doesn't show up in the app."

Pidge shoves her phone in Keith's face. "See?" she asks.

Keith starts feeling a bit faint. "Y-yeah, I see what you mean."

Shiro holds his palm out and Pidge nods, handing her phone over. Shiro assesses the app critically, clearly trying to find a trace of Lance, but Keith knows he won’t be able to. Lance had his phone with him when he was kidnapped; there's no way they'll see where he is. Not that it matters to Keith, because Keith already knows where they've taken him—he’s definitely in the Institute.

"He hasn't been answering my calls, either. I thought maybe his battery ran out, or something, but I just...had a bad feeling. I've known Lance for years, and this kind of behaviour is really weird."

Shiro hands the phone back to Pidge. He meets Keith's gaze for a moment and shakes his head, sighing.

"I didn't know where else to go, so I came here. I know you and Lance left Shiro's place, but Lance didn't tell me your destination, but I figured Shiro would tell me." Pidge lets out a breath of air, chucking in relief. "It must be my lucky day since I've found you, Keith."

Keith forces a smile, praying Pidge won't be able to see through it.

"Where is Lance?" Pidge asks, looking past Keith down the hallway. "Is he here?"

Keith can't answer.

"He's not," Shiro says. At Pidge's look of confusion, all he does is smile.

"Then where is he? Did he go home?"

Keith's facade starts to crack, bit by bit. "I can't tell you."

"What?" Pidge frowns.

“I—I can't tell you."

Pidge folds her arms over her chest. "Why not? Where is he?"

Keith's patience starts to wear thin. He knows he should be calmer, but he's never been good at talking with people. "Look, I can't tell you, but I promise I'll get him back."

The reaction is instantaneous. "Get him back?" Pidge shouts, stalking toward him. Keith resists the urge to cower, forcing his whole body to stay upright. "What does that mean?"

"Just trust me!" Keith blurts. "He's not here, but I—”

"Keith." Shiro's voice cuts through the air, dampening Pidge's fury while simultaneously making Keith's anxiety spike. "Tell her the truth."

Keith's eyes widen. "What? But—”

"Tell her."

"Shiro, I can't just—”

"Tell me," Pidge demands, facing Shiro. "Where is he?"

Shiro stares at her for a long, long time. He steps forward a bit, placing a hand on her shoulder. Despite it being his right arm, Pidge does not flinch. "I'm sorry to say this, but Lance has been kidnapped."

Pidge laughs. She doubles over, clutching her stomach, swatting Shiro's hand. "Ok," she says, voice muffled by her giggles. "Stop joking around. Seriously, where is he?"

"He's not joking."

The laughter cuts off, like a broken record. "Huh?"

Keith forces himself to look into her eyes. "He's not joking," he repeats.

"Lance...was kidnapped?"

Keith nods. "Yeah." Swallows. "He was."

"What the hell?" Pidge whispers to herself. "How? When?"

"I shouldn't really say—”

"The police," she blurts, voice rising in pitch. "What did they say?"

"Well...we didn't tell them, but—”

Then Pidge's face morphs into something...scary. Her whole body starts shaking, and Keith thinks she's really going to hit him. 

"Are you messing with me?" she seethes. "Because I swear, if this is a joke..."

"It's not."

She nods slowly to herself. "I knew it," she whispers. "This is your fault!"

Keith's flinches, telling himself it's because of her tone of voice and not because of her words. 

"You were suspicious from the start," Pidge continues, throwing her hands in the air. "You're in a gang, aren't you?"

“What? No! I'm not!"

"I didn't want to believe it at first, because I trust Lance, but when he asked me for a fake ID..." her hands tremble. "What kind of mess did you get him involved in?"

_The worst kind._

Her voices wavers and her eyes go teary. "Lance doesn't deserve this. He shouldn’t have helped you."

_I know._

"Pidge, please calm down." It's Shiro again that interrupts. "You have every right to be mad, but there’s an explanation for this."

Keith raises his eyebrows. Shiro mimics him.

"Keith," Shiro starts, "tell her the truth."

Keith stays silent.

"She's Lance's best friend, isn't she?" Shiro whispers. "She deserves to know."

Keith starts to talk. He tells her about his life and the Institute, he tells her about his powers. He tells her about his escape and the _real_ way he met Lance. He tells her everything that happened up until this point—from the fighting to the warehouse to watching Lance get taken away. 

Just as he imagined, telling her the story does not go well.

"You expect me to believe that?" she shouts. "I'm wasting my time with you." She stands up and stomps to the door. "I'm going to the police."

As she opens the door, a hand quickly slams it shut.

"I wish it was a joke," Keith murmurs from behind her. "But it's not."

Pidge growls, the sound low and menacing. "Keith," she turns to face him but freezes in shock the instant her eyes land on him.

A small ball of fire sits on Keith's palm. 

"You...you're..."

Keith stays silent, forlornly gazing into her eyes.

“It’s the truth?” she whispers.

Keith nods.

"You're a monster," Pidge blurts. Then she opens the door and runs outside.

Keith balls his hand into a fist and the small tendrils of flame turn into wisps of smoke. 

"Do you think she'll tell the police?"

Shiro sighs, rubbing his forehead. "No. She believes our story now. Thanks to you."

"She's scared of me. She...won't come back."

"You never know. Maybe she will."

 

* * *

 

Only a couple of minutes pass before the door bursts open.

Keith stands up in an instant. “Shiro, what are you doing? Why didn’t you lock the door?"

Shiro—still calmly seated—just smiles. “I told you, didn’t I?”

Keith balks. “What?”

A familiar face comes into view. 

Keith steps back in shock. “Pidge?”

Pidge walks forward, her brows furrowed, lips tight. She’s carrying a couple of bags and drops them on the floor. One bag, however, she treats with a bit more care. Keith recognises it.

“I’m still upset,” she says, adjusting her glasses. Her eyes are watery and rimmed with red. “And I’m still mad at you.” She shoots Keith a weak glare. “It’s your fault Lance was kidnapped. You could’ve stopped them.”

Keith looks at the ground, ashamed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Pidge scoffs, taking her laptop out of her bag. “Don’t say sorry to me. Say sorry to Lance when we rescue him.”

“…We?”

“Of course.” The laptop fans start up as the screen starts to glow. “You said he was taken by the Galra Institute?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll help you find him. We’ll work together."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for doing this to Keith and lance but...I love angst ;). 
> 
> thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!!


	6. Chapter 6

After an entire day of working tirelessly on her computer, Pidge finally calls Shiro and Keith over to come up with a plan. 

Shiro's eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he takes in the large maps spread out on his dining room table. 

"Pidge?" He asks as he approaches. "Where'd you get these?" 

Pidge absently stops biting her nails and looks up. "Their website." 

"The Institute’s?" 

"Yeah." 

"But this stuff is confidential. It's not on the website." 

Pidge rolls her eyes. "It doesn't matter where I got this stuff. The important part is that I have it." 

Shiro frowns and looks back at the table. The maps Pidge found aren't the standard ones that everyone can access. These maps are top secret files; blueprints and floor plans of every building in the Institute 

Keith scans the maps critically. His eyes droop a bit and he rubs at them, hoping to get rid of his fatigue. Pidge and Shiro are just as tired as he is, but they're still working hard to save Lance. This whole mess is Keith's fault; if anyone needs to work hard to fix it, it's him. 

"So," Pidge starts, taking a map that shows a satellite view of the Institute, including the surrounding forest. "There're three buildings," she points to each one on the map, "and Lance is in one of them. Now—” 

"He's in this one," Shiro says at the same time Keith taps one of the buildings. 

Pidge looks at them suspiciously. "How do you know?" 

Keith folds his arms over his chest, pretending that the map has his full attention. This is one question he doesn’t want to answer. 

"That's the Research Centre," Shiro says. 

Pidge drums her fingers across the table and deftly pulls out another map from the pile. "I've looked at its floor plan, but it seems like it's an office building." 

"It is," Shiro says. "But that's just the cover-up. Its real purpose is scientific research. All their experiments are kept there." 

Keith takes in a sharp breath at the words. 

"What are you saying?" Pidge murmurs. "They're experimenting on Lance? They'll turn him into”—she vaguely gestures toward Keith—“whatever he is?" 

Shiro points to another building on the map. "This is the dormitory. All of the students stay there. It wouldn't make sense for them to keep Lance in there, would it? It'd be too suspicious. One of the students could easily see him." 

Pidge scoffs. "You're saying the students don't know that their precious Institute is actually an evil organisation?" 

"They don't," Keith says quietly. He's still looking at the map. 

"What?"  

He can feel Pidge's eyes on him, but he doesn't want to look at her. "They don't know. Unless they can't be fixed...like _me..._ they'll never know about the experiments." 

"But..." Pidge bites down on her lip. "But didn't you have friends? When they took you away, didn't your friends think it was weird that you were suddenly gone?" 

"I didn't have friends." 

Pidge groans. "Ok, but you had classmates, right? Surely an entire class would notice that you disappeared." 

Keith shrugs. "They probably think I'm dead. It doesn't really matter." 

“Yes, it does!" Pidge's voice rises, bordering on hysteric. "What if you guys are wrong? What if Lance is in the dorms? Or in this other building over here?" 

"He wouldn't be in that one," Shiro says. "Those are the staff offices and classrooms." 

Pidge blinks at him, slowly. "I thought you said all the offices were in the Research Centre." 

"No, not all of them. The Research Centre has a total of seven floors. Ground floor, three floors above it, and three floors below. The ground floor has a few labs, but they're just for show. The real work happens on the underground floors." 

Pidge's gaze falls back down on the maps that litter the table. When she speaks, her voice is cold and serious. "Look. I'm really tired and just..." she runs a hand through her hair. "Upset. Scared. Worried. Lance is my best friend and I want to help him. But you guys need to take this more seriously. I don't believe you when you say he's in the Research Centre. Can't we make a plan that takes that into consideration?" 

Keith really should leave all the talking to Shiro. He's never been good at talking to people; he's always either too harsh or too rude. But right now, he can't stay silent. He isn't sure if it's because of what Pidge said, or the way she said it, but he's mad.  

"We want to save Lance just as much as you do," he snaps at her. "We have the same goal. Why would we lie?" 

Pidge meets his heated stare head-on. "I don't know. Maybe because you've been lying this whole time? You told me you and Lance were childhood friends! And I was dumb enough to believe you!" 

"What was I supposed to do?" Keith cries. "I needed to find Shiro but Lance and I couldn't do it on our own. Getting help from you wasn't even my idea!" 

"You should have known it would've been dangerous to have other people help you. But you still asked Lance and me for help. And now look what's happened! Lance is gone and it’s your fault!" 

"I know that!" Keith shouts, slamming his hands on the table. A couple of the maps rustle, crinkling as he curls his hands into fists. "Do you really think I wanted this to happen?" he whispers. “If I could, I'd trade places with him in an instant." 

Pidge sniffs, removing her glasses and furiously wiping her eyes. Keith had figured he'd be the one to shatter the paper thin semblance of peace they've had this whole time, but he didn't think it'd happen so soon. 

"Pidge," Shiro says calmly, placing a hand on her back. Pidge curls in on herself, her shoulders shaking. Keith's never seen her look so fragile. "We're really sorry. If things had gone according to plan, Lance and Keith would never have met and none of this would’ve happened. I know this must be really hard for you, but it's hard for us as well. And I know it's difficult for you to trust us, but you need to at least try. Keith is right—we _do_ all share the same goal. Why would we sabotage that?" 

Pidge adjusts her glasses, sniffing one last time. "Fine," she murmurs, her voice watery. "Sorry, it's just—” she trails off, taking a deep breath. "Let's get back to work. Tell me about the Research Centre." 

Shiro nods and smoothly pries the wrinkled map from Keith's shaky hold. "It's comprised of seven levels. From top to bottom, there're levels 3, 2, 1, ground floor, and then the three underground levels. M1, M2, and the final level, M3." 

"Alright." Pidge nods slowly. "So, we need to check the whole building. I could probably mess around with their security system, so I can get you in." 

"I'll wear my old guard uniform so that I blend in." Shiro smiles faintly. "I guess it's lucky I kept it..." 

"Your keycard," Keith mutters. "Do you have that?" 

"I do," Shiro says. He glances hesitantly at Pidge. "But I don't think I can use it. My name will show up on the records if I do." 

Pidge waves a hand. "I'll take care of that. I'll just overwrite the data so it looks like someone else went into the building." 

"You can do that?" 

"Of course." 

"Alright," Shiro says with a sigh. "While Keith and I sneak in, you'll need to be stationed somewhere. We'll need a car...Keith, where's Lance's car? Did you drive it to get here?" 

"I did." Keith nods. "But as I got closer to your apartment, I didn't want them to use it to track us down. I abandoned it near a cafe, but I can't remember where." 

"Damn," Shiro murmurs. "We could've used the car..." 

"It's not worth it." Keith shrugs. "If they find us here, our whole plan will be useless." 

"I can get us a car. No...better yet. I'll get us a van. That should be large enough, right?" Pidge looks from Shiro to Keith, gauging their reactions. 

"You?" Shiro asks, incredulous. "Can get us a van?" 

"Yep." 

"...How?" 

Pidge smiles wickedly and Shiro raises his arms up in surrender. "You know what?" he mutters. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know." 

"Now that that's settled," Pidge says, smirking, "who's going to search around the underground levels? Shiro?" 

A silence settles in the room. After a moment, Shiro opens his mouth to answer, but Keith quickly interrupts. 

"I'll do it." 

Shiro and Pidge both turn to him, confused.  

"But Shiro was a guard," Pidge argues. "He probably knows the building better than you." 

"I know," Keith says. "But I've spent my whole life on level M3. I want to check it myself." 

Shiro stares at him, long and hard, and Keith knows he sees right through his facade. Right through his lie. "Are you sure?" 

Keith looks into his eyes, and for once he lets his guard drop. He lets Shiro see whatever it is he's looking for, bares his soul to the world. "I need to be the one to check. To make sure..." _they didn't do something to him._  

_That they didn't turn him into a monster._

"Ok." Shiro claps Keith's shoulder. "Keith will do it. I'll check the ground floor and the other levels." 

"You guys are sure about this?" Pidge asks, uncertain. "I mean...if Keith spent so much time there...and if they did such...you know," she bites her lip, "bad things to him...won't it be hard?" 

"I can do it." Keith’s eyes narrow resolutely. "For Lance." 

"Ok. If you guys are happy, then I guess this is it? This is our plan?" 

"This will work," Shiro says. "It might not be easy, and it’s probably a trap, but we can do it." 

His smile is reassuring and gentle. For just a moment, Keith decides to ignore everything and focuses solely on Shiro's smile. It makes him feel calm. It makes him feel like they cansave Lance. 

And they _can_ save him. _They will._  

_Definitely._

"We can discuss some more things tomorrow," Shiro says, stifling a yawn. "It's getting late. Let's sleep for now." 

 

* * *

 

A lot of people complain about time moving too fast, but to Keith, these past few days have never felt slower. Time crawls at a snail's pace, and on one morning Keith thought the clock had even started moving backward. While the latter is probably due to his lack of sleep, he can't shake the feeling of wasting time and being _completely useless._  

If it were up to him, he would've charged into the Institute—at the very latest—the day after Lance was taken. If Shiro hadn't warned him, he probably would have tried to do that. But for now, he'll trust Shiro's judgement. Even if it feels like he's abandoning Lance.  

In just a few hours, they'll hop into the van Pidge got for them (Shiro _still_ doesn't want to know where she got it from) and put their plan into action. Before then, they need to rest. 

But Keith can't sleep. 

He tosses and turns, worried and anxious, wondering if Lance is really ok, hoping they didn't hurt him. He's torn between allowing thoughts of Lance to consume him entirely—until the fear and stress eat away at him and all that's left is his skin and bones—and trying to forget about him, because only then can his mind stay focused.  

The most annoying thought, however, comes as a simple question: is Lance on level M3?  

Keith knows what’s kept down there; only the most confidential experiments are on M3. Keith spent his whole life there. If that’s where he finds Lance… 

He groans in frustration and sits up. Whenever he closes his eyes, images of Lance being tortured—of being turned into a monster—flash in his mind. There's no way he's getting any sleep. He might as well not even try. 

He gets up from the sofa and stretches his legs. He makes his way to the bathroom but pauses outside the room Pidge is in. A faint light glows from the edges of the door, and if he listens close enough, he hears the sound of typing. Frowning, Keith peers inside the room, and is unsurprised to see Pidge wide awake (albeit clearly tired). 

"You should be sleeping." 

Pidge startles, crying out in alarm. She brings her laptop up, clutching it to her chest, before sending a chilling glare toward Keith. "Don't scare me like that. Couldn't you knock?" 

Keith ignores her question. "You should be sleeping." 

Pidge rolls her eyes. "I know. But I can't sleep. I'm too restless. You're not sleeping either." 

Keith doesn't say anything. He continues to stand in the doorway, content with just watching her type when she suddenly sighs. 

"Are you coming in or not?" 

Keith considers the words for a moment, knowing it's probably better to leave her alone, but he still ends up going in. 

She's staying in Shiro's guest room; the same room he and Lance slept in when they visited Shiro together. Of course, Pidge doesn't know that fact—it'd probably stress her out even more.

Keith had thought it'd be hard for him to come back into this room, but now that he's here, he sees that it's not. It's a bit sad, sure, but part of him is almost...happy. Because Lance was once in this room—part of this room, breathed life into this room, alive and well in this room—and that thought on its own is comforting enough.  

"Do you want something?" Pidge asks. She doesn't look up from her screen. 

Keith shifts awkwardly. The small, budding friendship between him and Pidge is now completely tarnished. But it's fine. Someone like him isn't meant for friends. Isn't really meant for anything. 

"I'm sorry," he blurts, because it feels like the only right thing to say, even if it doesn't seem like enough. "I'm really sorry for everything." 

Pidge's fingers pause for the slightest moment, but they're back to their usually fluid speed in no time. "I know," she whispers. 

"Don't be mad at Lance. Don't be mad at him just because he decided to trust me. It's all my fault." 

"I know that," she repeats. She shoots him a look. "And I'm not mad at him. Well...maybe a little. But I think I get why he did it—why he helped you." 

Keith shakes his head, leaning back on her now closed door with his arms crossed. "No, you were right. I shouldn't have gotten him involved." 

"Look," she closes her laptop, tossing it aside onto a pile of pillows, "I'm angry and upset and scared, but...I can't judge you for what you did. Your circumstances are hard to believe, but they're also really scary. I was too harsh. So I'm sorry for that." 

"You care about Lance," Keith says. "It's natural to react the way you did." 

Pidge's eyes shine with unshed tears. "Of course I care. He's my best friend." 

Keith shudders a little, wrapping his arms right around himself.  

"Hey...can I ask you something?" Pidge asks. 

Keith nods. 

"Uh...why did they experiment on you?" 

Keith blinks at her. "Didn't I tell you? The Institute is a place for orphans with behavioural problems. But they couldn't fix me, so—” 

"I get that part. But... _why_ did they do it? You said you were the only successful experiment, but why did they experiment on you at all? They wouldn't do something like that randomly. There was a reason for it—a _purpose."_  

Keith swallows the lump in his throat. "I don't know. They never told me. They never told any of us." 

"Does Shiro know?" 

"No." 

"Ok, then what about that doctor that helped you? What was his name? Alfor?" 

Keith shakes his head. "Alfor never mentioned anything, but...I don't think he knew, either. The only doctor that know was the doctor in charge. She was one of Alfor's bosses.” 

"Oh? Who is she?" 

Keith shivers as he remembers the name. "Haggar." 

"So...you really don't know what they were going to use you for?" 

"I don't. I've had ideas but..." 

"I could find out for you." Pidge almost looks sincere. "If you want to know..." she points to her laptop. "I could do it." 

Keith knows he's a monster. He doesn't really want to know any more than that. "No," he mutters, shaking his head. "I-it's fine. Seriously. Don’t worry about it."  

The way Pidge looks at him doesn't sit well with him. He doesn't like pity, doesn't like worry. But he appreciates her gesture regardless.  

"Ok," she whispers. "But if you change your mind..." 

Keith won't, but he still nods. 

He turns to leave, but pauses as he opens the door. "Don't worry about Lance. He's ok. We'll save him." 

Pidge smiles. "I know." 

 

* * *

 

“Alright. It’s almost time. You guys ready?” 

Keith frowns, taking the knife in his hands and hooking it beneath his belt. He adjusts the black beanie on his head and nods. 

“We’re ready,” Shiro says to Pidge, adjusting his uniform one final time. Seeing him dressed as a guard again makes Keith feel strangely nostalgic. 

Pidge twists around in the driver’s seat, being careful not to drop her laptop. “Do you want to go over the plan one more time?” 

“What’s there to go over?” Keith mutters. “We get in and save Lance. That’s it.” 

Shiro sighs. “We’re ok, Pidge. We remember what to do. Just focus on supporting us.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you guys covered.” Pidge smiles, patting her laptop. “We’ll keep an eye on things from out here.” 

Shiro nods toward the van’s dashboard, which is now covered with wires and a bunch of Pidge’s electronic devices. “There’s more room back here,” he says, gesturing to the space between him and Keith as they crouch in the back, behind the driver’s and passenger’s seats.  

“Oh, I know.” The moonlight glints eerily off of Pidge’s glasses. “But it’s better if I sit here. You know, in case you need a quick getaway, or something.” 

Shiro laughs nervously. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

“Go outside,” Pidge says. “Check if your earpieces are working. Then we can get started.” 

Shiro slides the door open and steps out of the van. Keith lingers back for a bit before easily jumping out as well. He breathes in the crisp air as Shiro whispers quickly into his mic. 

“Pidge, do you copy?” 

“Loud and clear,” Pidge responds, her voice slightly muffled by static. “Can you hear me?” 

“Yes, I can.” 

“Keith?” Pidge asks. “Can you?” 

Keith holds a hand up to his right ear, adjusting his earpiece. “I hear you.” 

“Ok,” Pidge says. “Then let’s get started.” 

“Got it,” Shiro says.  

“Good luck,” Pidge whispers.  

Shiro and Keith don't respond. They turn to face each other, taking a moment to bask in reality. Neither of them has said it, but Keith knows it’s been plaguing both of their minds.  

_Can we do this? Can we really go back there? Can we really face them again?_

Keith squares his jaw and nods, eyes glinting dangerously under the light of the moon. He nods toward the Institute, and that action is more than enough to convey his message to Shiro. 

They start walking, side by side, footsteps swift and cautious. The path they’re on is familiar; Keith had been running through it on the night he escaped. Back then, the whole world had been tinted blue and filtered with grey. But now everything is red; nothing but red. 

Pidge had parked the van away from the main road on a smaller side street. From that position, it’ll be easy for them to reach the back entrance to the Research Centre. The problem is they need to cut through a large section of forest, and being out in the open for too long is a major disadvantage.  

When the foliage starts getting sparse, Shiro and Keith are forced to split up. They keep each other in their line of sight—so they’re never too far apart—and sneak under branches and around bushes.

Eventually, they get to a point where there aren’t any more trees or bushes to use as a hiding spot. The large and painfully familiar exterior of the research building seems almost imposing. Keith notices his fingers turning white as he grips tightly onto a branch.  

“We’re outside the building,” Shiro says levelly. 

“Great,” Pidge says. “From what I’m seeing, there’s no one around, so this is your chance. Sneak in now.” 

They don't need to be told twice. Shiro grabs Keith by the arm and tugs him in close. Keith keeps his head down, tugging his face mask up so it covers his mouth and nose. With his uniform on, Shiro won’t be recognised and can easily blend in. Keith needs to be more careful—hence his all-black attire. If someone were to spot them like this while they’re out in the open, the only thing that’ll save them is the fact that Shiro looks like a guard; he can easily lie and say that Keith is a student that snuck out of the dorms. 

Shiro sighs in relief when they finally make it to the back entrance. “We’re here,” he says, speaking slowly but clear enough for the earpiece to pick up. “We’re counting on you now, Pidge.” 

“I’ve already shut off all the cameras. I’ve got some old footage looping, so you’ll be fine.” 

“Can you see if the hall is empty?” Keith murmurs, scanning the area with narrowed eyes.  

“I can’t track all of the guards. Some of their keycards don’t have a strong enough signal. But as far as I can tell, the coast is clear.” 

Shiro takes out his own keycard. He holds it up, lining it up with the slot, but doesn’t move. “Keith.” He keeps his head down but his eyes flit over to Keith for the briefest moment. “It’s not too late. You can turn back.” 

Keith steels himself, pretends the fluttering in his chest is just adrenaline and not anxiety. “I’ll save him, Shiro.” 

Shiro nods and brings his wrist down in one swift motion. The door handle lights up green and there’s an audible _click_ as the door gives way. Shiro shoves it open, stepping inside first and ushering Keith in after he makes sure the hallway is empty.  

“We’re in,” Shiro says to Pidge. 

“Roger that,” comes Pidge’s muffled reply. 

The entrance they’re using leads to a fire escape. Keith walks carefully behind Shiro, ears straining to hear another set of footsteps. They soon reach another door—one that’s labelled with a large ‘G’.  

“To get to the research area, we’ll need to go through here.” 

Keith frowns. “Can’t we just use the fire escape?” 

Shiro shakes his head. “No. There’s a separate fire escape for the underground levels, but it’s not connected to this one. We’ll need to go through the main hallway.” 

“Fine,” Keith huffs. “Let’s just get on with it.” 

The door creaks as Shiro opens it. He steps outside onto the polished tiles that line the ground floor and, just as Keith is about to follow, slams the door shut.  

Keith startles back a bit. He sighs in annoyance and pushes on the door, but it won’t budge. Confused, Keith tries again, putting some more force into it, but it’s no use. The door remains shut. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers. After getting no answer, he tries again—a bit louder, “Shiro!” 

“Hey, how’s it going?” 

Keith freezes. That’s not Shiro’s voice. 

“Fine. Any trouble?” 

“Nope. It’s a peaceful night. If we’re lucky we’ll finish up early.” 

Shiro forces a laugh. “Well, we should get back to work.” 

More laughter, but this time from someone else. “Sure. See you later.” 

Keith holds his breath until the footsteps fade away. He doesn’t even realise how much time has passed until the door is open and Shiro drags him into the main hallway. 

“Sorry,” Shiro whispers. He holds Keith tightly by the shoulders and ushers him into a darker, more secluded section. “There was a guard on patrol.” 

“I know,” Keith says. “I heard him.” 

They stop in front of a large, metal door. There’s a sign on the front that says ‘No Entry’ in red letters. Keith knows what this door is. He first saw it years ago, as a small, ignorant child; back when he was still normal.  

“Pidge,” Shiro mutters. “We’re splitting up now.” 

“Give your keycard to Keith,” Pidge instructs. “He’ll need it more than you.” 

The card feels a lot heavier than it should. Keith rubs his thumb over the block letters that spell out Shiro’s name, feels the smooth plastic heat up under his touch. He swallows and takes a breath. He needs to calm down. 

“You’ll be ok,” Shiro says, patting him on the shoulder. Keith wonders if Shiro actually meant to say it as a question. 

“Yeah. You’ll be ok, too.” 

Keith feels Shiro tense up the slightest bit. “We’ll find him.” 

“I know.” Keith takes a step forward, hand stretched out to slide the card into the slot by the wall. His hand shakes as he swipes the card, and his whole body jolts when the door beeps. 

The handle is cold under his touch, and a lot heavier than it looks. Keith wonders how heavy it’d feel for someone else, wonders if maybe it’s just heavy for him because this entire place reminds him of things he’d rather forget.

He steels himself and opens the door. Lance. He’s doing this for Lance. No matter how much Keith dreads coming back to the Institute, he’s sure Lance dreads being here so much more. He’ll save him from that feeling.  

When the door closes behind him, Keith’s heart stutters a little. He’s never been so tempted to look back, but he stops himself and keeps going forward. If he turns around he’ll see Shiro, and right now, he doesn’t want to see him. He doesn't want to see Shiro’s eyes shine in concern, or anxiety, or—worst of all—pity. 

His steps echo in the dim hallway. He passes by empty rooms and offices, and he knows he’s getting close. Finally, he makes it to the door that leads to level M1—the first underground level. 

Keith brings a hand up to his ear. “I’m going in.” 

“Be careful,” Pidge says. If Keith listens long enough, he can hear the gentle patter of her typing. “I can’t track the scientists or doctors as well as the guards, so…” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Right. Tell me if you need any help.” 

Keith bites his lip and opens the door.  

He hopes with his entire being that he’ll find Lance on this level.  

 

* * *

 

Level M1 is not very familiar to Keith. Granted, it does have a similar layout to M3, but the slight change is more than enough to confuse him.  

He pauses at a corner, back flush against the wall, and slowly peeks down the hallway. He can’t see anyone—can’t hear any footsteps either—so he moves onward.  

Every single room—from offices to labs—is empty. If not for the three guards he’d snuck past (and the one he had to knock out), level M1 is devoid of people. 

After his first round of the level, he wonders if he should check again. It’s a stupid idea, and he knows it’s futile, but maybe he missed something. Maybe they hid Lance in a closet and that’s why he didn’t see him. Surely if he just goes by again, he’ll— 

“Keith,” Pidge says, tone warning. “What are you doing?” 

“Huh? Oh, uh…nothing. Why? Is someone nearby?” 

“No. It’s just, you’ve been standing in the same spot for a while now. Do you still have Shiro’s card?” 

Keith feels for the smooth plastic in his pocket. “Yeah, I still have it.” 

“I thought you dropped it. That’s what I’m using to track you.” 

“I…was thinking that I should…uh…check again?” 

“What?” 

“I mean…” Keith bites down on his lip, moving around so he’s closer to the supply cupboard. If a guard turns the corner, he can easily hide in it. “I didn’t find Lance, but if I check again—” 

“We don’t have time for that.” It’s Shiro that cuts in. “I haven’t found him on the ground floor or on level 1. I’m moving up to level 2. You should move on as well, Keith.” 

Keith takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah,” he whispers. “You’re right.” 

“I have a feeling Lance will be on level M2,” Pidge says. “Don’t worry.” 

“Me too,” Keith says—lies.  

 

* * *

 

 

“Level 2 is clear,” Shiro says. “I’m going up to 3.” 

Keith’s heart sinks. “Are you sure?” he asks.  

“Yes. There’re only offices up here. I doubt they’d keep him here.” 

“Keith,” Pidge says, voice edging on desperate. “Have you seen anything?” 

“No…I’m done with M2. He’s not here.” 

Keith wishes the only thing he’d hear from his earpiece is dead silence. But of course, the universe won’t let him have anything good in life because it won’t even grant him that one small privilege. As such, he’s privy to the sudden sharp breath Pidge takes, privy to Shiro muttering something that sounds like a curse, privy to their anguish.  

He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat but somehow, he only makes it worse. “Pidge,” he rasps. “I need help. The level M3 door won’t open with just a keycard.” 

“Yeah.” Pidge somehow sounds far away, her voice getting smaller and smaller. “Give me a minute.” 

Everyone is anxious right now. Shiro must have forgotten to turn his mic off because Keith can hear—what he assumes is—his clothes rustling as he walks. Pidge’s typing has lost it’s usual steady rhythm, delving into something a bit more unstable. And Keith…he’s barely keeping himself intact. 

“Slide it now.” Pidge clears her throat. “Your card. The keycard. Slide it in—” 

“I know what you mean,” Keith says, following her instructions.

 

* * *

 

Level M3 is dark and sombre. Keith isn't used to seeing it like this, so empty and barren. It should be filled with people. Guards should be patrolling the area, scientists with white coats and clipboards should be milling about.  

And then there are the unfortunate ones: the experiments. People like Keith. But of course, they won’t be wandering around on their own. It’s nighttime, so Keith knows they’re all in their rooms. That’s the most unnerving part; as he walks down this hallway the only thing that separates him from them is a wall.  

He wants to save them. He wants to reach his hand out and pull them from this place of horror into a world of serenity. He wants to show them there’s so much more to life than crying yourself to sleep in a room that is too cold to ever be comfortable, that there’s more to life than being held down and prodded, more to life than pain and suffering.  

He halts in front of a room. He can’t hear anything from inside—all of the rooms on this floor are soundproof—but there’s something else that draws him to it. The number next to the door is 2682. He reaches for the doorknob and steps inside without thinking.  

It’s his room. This room was his home for most of his life. This small, stifling room.  

Keith looks around, feeling strangely surreal. His mattress is exactly where it used to be. The scorch mark he left when he was fifteen is still unfixed. It’s almost like he never left.  

“You’re doing it again.” 

Keith jumps in shock, spinning wildly around before realisation dawns on him. “Pidge,” he growls.  

“You were standing in one place again.” 

“Sorry. I got distracted.”  

“Did you see something in that room?” 

Keith looks around one last time; his final farewell. “No. There’s nothing.” He makes sure the door is locked on his way out.

“I don’t mean to alarm you guys, but don’t you think everything has been going suspiciously well?” Pidge asks. 

Shiro hums lowly. “I feel the same way. It’s an obvious trap.” 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a trap,” Keith says, throwing open another unlocked door. There’s no Lance. “If they want to fight me, then let them.” 

Keith’s getting a bit impatient. He kicks the next door open, stepping inside with a scowl. It’s completely empty, save for a lump in the corner. He thinks nothing of it and moves back into the hallway, until he sees the lump move. 

He frowns, stepping forward cautiously. Did he accidentally step into an experiment’s room? That wouldn’t make much sense; their doors are always locked. Is it a guard in hiding? Is this the trap Shiro keeps going on about? 

The lump shifts again, and this time it wheezes. Keith pauses in his tracks and holds his hand out, channelling a small ball of fire onto his palm to light up the room. His eyes widen and his heart quickens.  

“Lance?” 

Lance groans, his body falling to the side.  

“Lance!” Keith is by him in an instant, propping him up, holding his head in his hands. “I’ve found him!” he says to Pidge and Shiro.  

“How is he? Is he ok? Is he breathing? Is he hurt?” Pidge’s questions come all at once. 

Lance groans again as Keith gently opens his eyes up a bit. “He seems fine,” he says after a moment of scrutiny. “Although he’s acting a bit weird. They might have drugged him.” 

“All that matters is that he’s alive and well,” Shiro sagely says at the same time Pidge shouts, “Hurry up! Get him out of there!” 

Keith gulps.  

"Lance," he tries to hide the desperate lilt in his voice, "Lance, it's me." He hooks a finger under his face mask and pulls it down, uncovering the bottom half of his face. 

Lance looks at him, but his eyes are distant. He might be looking at Keith, but he's not really _looking_ at anything right now. “K-eith?” Lance slurs. "You're here?" 

"Yeah," Keith whispers. "I'm here." 

Lance closes his eyes and lets out a wheezy laugh. "You're here," he repeats, as if he can't quite believe the words. "You came...for me?" 

Keith's heart twists in his chest. "Of course. I'm here to save you." 

He stands up and holds his hands out. "Come on," he says. "Pidge is waiting for you outside." 

Lance takes his hands and allows himself to be hauled to his feet. The instant Keith lets go, he starts to stagger. Keith curses and grabs Lance by the arm, slinging that arm around his shoulders to prob him up.  

"Can you walk?" Keith asks. He gets no response. "Lance," he presses. "Can you walk?" 

Lance's head droops. "Keith..." he stutters. "I don't...feel good..."  

Keith curses as Lance's body goes completely lax. He reaches up and places a finger on the side of Lance's neck. He feels a pulse—steady, albeit on the weaker side—and sighs in relief.  

"Guys," he says, hoping Shiro and Pidge aren't already preoccupied. "Lance is unconscious." 

"What?" Pidge bellows. "You said he was fine!" 

"They _definitely_ drugged him," Shiro says. "Can you carry him?" 

Keith grunts as he manoeuvres Lance onto his back. Lance's arms fall forward, loosely curled around Keith's neck, and Keith hooks his arms around Lance's knees. It's an awkward, almost piggy-back position, but it'll do for now. 

"We'll be ok, but I could use some help. Shiro?" 

"Don't worry, I'll be down there as soon as I can. Pidge will track your position and tell me where you are, so just focus on getting to an exit. I'll find you." 

Keith sighs and starts walking back to the hallway. Lance's head rests on his shoulder, every single one of his breaths hitting the side of his neck. He tries to resist the urge to shiver and continues the trek back to the exit. He scans the area and decides it's best to leave via the fire escape. Pidge can track any guards moving around, so if he gets the all-clear from her he should be able to get out without any trouble. 

Just as he thinks that, he hears footsteps. He pauses, heart hammering, trying to discern the source of the steps. Then he hears another set of steps, and then another and another, and then Pidge is frantically screeching in his ear, "Keith, get out of there!" 

But it's too late. The once empty, silent hallway is now flanked with guards. They hold their weapons out—some have guns while others have knives—clearly ready to fight. Keith looks around wildly and then spins around, but he's completely surrounded. There's no escape. 

Gritting his teeth, he tightens his hold on Lance. Maybe he can run past them. But the problem is, what if Lance gets shot? Sprawled on Keith's back, Lance is now a deadweight shield, and Keith doesn't want to put him in any more danger. 

"It's so nice to see you again," a deep voice says.  

Keith's frozen at once, the familiar voice chilling his veins. Time slows down as the guards in front of him part to the side, as smooth as the waves of the ocean, and a large man walks through. He stops in front of Keith and smiles, all teeth and doom. 

"Sendak," Keith hisses.  

Sendak tuts. "That's no way to greet your old teacher. Where are your manners? I taught you better than that, KXF479." 

Keith visibly flinches, that horrible name searing through his skin, pricking every single nerve in his body. “Don’t call me that," he snarls. "My name is Keith." 

Sendak laughs. "Our files say otherwise. But we're getting off topic." Perhaps without the terrifying glint in his eyes, his smile would seem kinder. "I must say that I'm proud of you. Escaping is no easy feat, and the fact that you were able to evade so many of our guards just shows how talented you are. And that, in turn, just shows that I'm a fantastic teacher. But the time for games is over. Return to us, KXF479, and we won't harm your friends." 

_Friends._ Did something happen to Shiro and Pidge? Were they also caught?  

It's suddenly much harder to carry Lance. 

"I'm not staying here. And he isn't either,” Keith says, gesturing to Lance with a nod of his head.  

Sendak sighs. "You're making things difficult...Do you realise that you're behaving like a child?" 

"Stop acting like you're my parent," Keith snaps. "You're nothing to me. I'd kill you if I could." 

A surprised look glosses Sendak's features, and then he's doubled over with laughter. "I see you're as stupid as always. Then let's make a deal." He looks up again, and Keith swears his eyes glow an ominous red. "If you can defeat me, then I'll let you and your friend go. But if you can't, then you're both staying." 

"No," Keith says immediately. "I'll stay, but you have to let him go."  

"You seem to think that we're doing things under your terms. Remember where you are, KXF479." Sendak spreads his arms out. "You're the intruder here. I make the rules. Either accept the deal, or we'll just capture you right now." 

Keith can hear the blood rushing around in his head. He's too dizzy, and he's just so tired...it'd be easy to give up. It’d be easy to let Sendak win. But then Lance jolts the tiniest bit, and his voice brushes the shell of Keith's ear. "Don't...fight..."  

He knows what to do. "It's a deal." 

Sendak smirks. "Go to the upper floors and find his other friend," he says to the guards around them. They salute in unison and leave. 

Keith tenses up. "If you’re going to capture Shiro, then—” 

"I'm feeling generous today." Sendak rolls his shoulders. "I'll include Shiro in our deal as well. But remember, if you lose then you're _all_ staying here." 

It's a lot of pressure for one person, but Keith can't back down now. Sendak has ripped Lance and Shiro's lives from their hands and handed them over to him. 

And Keith will protect them—that's a promise.  

Lance stirs a little when Keith sets him down at the end of the hallway. He should be out of reach here, so at least Keith won't need to worry about someone sneaking by and taking him when he's turned away. Then he turns back to Sendak. 

"You're a fool if you think you can beat me," Sendak sneers. "I taught you how to fight. I know the limits of your power." 

Keith doesn't respond. He gets into a fighting stance and narrows his eyes. "Don't underestimate me." 

He can do this; he _has_ to do this. For Lance and Shiro.  

Sendak strikes first. He charges forward, ground shaking with the force of his footsteps. He swings his right arm out in a jab and Keith barely dodges the blow. He swings again and again, forcing Keith to move at lightning speed to evade his deadly punches. And that's just the thing about fighting Sendak—he never holds back. Every single hit is planned carefully in advance, as if he goes through the entire fight in his mind before he even raises a fist. When he strikes, he goes all out. He always intends to hurt, to damage, to _kill._ The fact that Keith is a valuable experiment doesn't mean much to Sendak. Maybe it's because he knows that Keith is strong, knows that Keith can take a punch that would kill anyone else, and so he figures there's no reason to hold back. Or maybe, deep down, he hopes to get rid of Keith and write it off as an accident—a desperate act of self-defence. Keith is reminded of this thought every time he looks at Sendak and sees the large burn mark marring his face. 

It's one of the few scars he doesn't regret making. 

Keith glances back to check on Lance and—once he's sure he's ok—throws himself to the side. Sendak follows, snarling like a mad dog. 

Keith sucks in a breath through his teeth as Sendak's fist comes flying toward his face. He's barely able to dodge, and when he looks back he sees a dent in the wall where he'd been standing moments ago. 

"What's the matter?" Sendak spits. "Scared? You wanted a fight, didn't you?" 

"Keith!" A frantic voice sounds in his ears. "What's happening? Are you ok? Is Lance ok?" 

For just a moment, Pidge's concerned questions manage to distract him. He doesn't see Sendak's kick in time, so the sudden pain blooming across his stomach comes as a shock. Keith is knocked into a wall, wheezing, retching, barely breathing. Pidge repeats her questions but he can't hear her. 

"Pidge," he gasps, using the wall to prop himself up. "I'm kinda busy right now." 

Keith grunts as he jumps up, spinning in the air, aiming for Sendak's head. As expected, Sendak flawlessly predicts the kick and grabs onto Keith's ankle. Just as he's about to throw him aside, Keith brings his other leg and slams it into Sendak's temple. He's dropped to the floor immediately. 

"Are you safe?" Keith rasps, and Pidge stops talking the instant she hears him. 

"Yes," she says. "But what's going on?" 

"It's nothing." Keith gets up and starts running as fast as he can, kicking off the wall for extra momentum. As he soars toward Sendak, he raises his hands and breathes deep, feeling the fire spring to life at his fingertips. He throws the fire forward, thrusting with all his might. 

Sendak's eyes narrow. He twists and turns, avoiding the onslaught of flames. Keith sends a ball of fire at him, but Sendak deflects it with his arm, knocking it off to the side, completely unfazed. The compact fire spreads out at the contact, hissing as it hits the wall and goes out. 

"Is Shiro ok?" Keith barely manages to get the words out. 

"Yes. He's making his way toward you—” 

"Tell him to leave. They're coming after him." 

"But Keith, what about—” 

"I'll be fine. Just warn Shiro." 

Keith continues to dodge Sendak's blows, moving side to side in an attempt to get Sendak to follow. Bigger opponents like him need to be worn down, made to run and swing like crazy so their stamina depletes.  

In theory, it sounds like a good plan. But in practice, things get messy—especially when fighting someone as dirty as Sendak. 

Keith knows something isn't right when Sendak doesn't even try coming after him. They're standing on opposite ends of the hallway now, no one daring to make a move. The walls and floor are scuffed and scorched. Keith can feel his fingers start to twitch, and he allows a flame to glide around his fingers. He stands, poised to attack or defend, waiting for Sendak to move. And Sendak does move. But he doesn't move toward Keith.  

"Hey," Keith's scowl and narrowed eyes turn into something a bit more desperate. A bit more frantic. "What are you doing?" 

Chest heaving, Sendak walks toward Lance.  

"Hey!" Keith drops his arms down to his sides. "Don't go near him! This is between us, isn't it?" 

Lance is still unconscious, so when Sendak lifts him by the back of his shirt, he's completely limp. Keith thinks that he goes blind for a moment, because one second he's watching Sendak leer down at Lance, and the next his fist is buried in Sendak's stomach.  

Sendak lets Lance go as he starts to cough. He doubles over, hands on knees, while Keith stands before him, eyes hard. But then Sendak's coughs turn into laughs.  

"You're a fool," he wheezes. 

Keith thinks he must've gone blind again, because in the blink of an eye he's staring up at the ceiling, his entire body singing with pain.  

As Sendak thunders toward him and picks him up, Keith thinks that no, his body isn't singing. It's crying. 

Keith braces himself for the impact as Sendak throws him toward the wall. Even though he anticipates the pain, it doesn’t hurt any less. His vision swims as he tries to right himself, and he weakly raises a hand up to his forehead. It comes back stained with blood. The blood pools on the back of his right eyelid, spilling over and into his eye. Sendak approaches. 

Keith curses, swinging weakly to try and dislodge his arm from Sendak's crippling grip, but he's too disoriented to even _see,_ let alone try and aim a punch at someone. Keith cries out as he's thrown to the floor and kicked again and again, Sendak's heavy foot meeting his chest, stomach, back.  

Then the kicks stop. The pain, however, remains—the only constant in this gruelling fight. Keith thinks that he's blacked out, but then Sendak's knees are on his back and tears spring to his eyes.  

Sendak chuckles as he reaches around and roughly grabs hold of Keith's chin. "Well, it looks like I win, doesn't it?" His fingers curl until it feels like Keith's face is going to be crushed.  

The words are muffled and distorted, and there's a chance Pidge is still talking to him via his earpiece, so Keith has no idea what Sendak is trying to say.  

Sendak laughs again. "Did you hear me?" he sneers, digging his nails into Keith's cheeks. "You lose, KXF479" 

_You lose...?_

So then...Keith has lost? But, if he's lost, then that means Lance and Shiro have lost as well. Keith couldn't do it. He couldn't protect all of their lives. He can’t leave this place. Even if he does leave, he always ends up back here in the end—he’s stuck in a tauntingly vicious cycle of doom, happiness, and more doom. And now Lance will Shiro will both be subjected to the same torture he was. They’ll suffer just like he had. They’ll turn into monsters. 

Just like him. 

He can't give up now. He won't let himself lose. It's not an option.  

Keith tries to conjure a few flames but they die under his skin, before they even penetrate the surface of his palm. Tears gather in his eyes as he looks inside himself, calls out to the monster in him, and begs for help. But it doesn't come. The flames won't appear.  

The fingers on his left hand start to twitch. Sendak presses down on him again, laughing and jeering. Keith ignores him and slides his hand down until he grasps something cold and metal. He unhooks the knife from his belt, grits his teeth, and rises up. He's barely able to move, but Sendak still tries to keep him pinned down. That's when Keith strikes—he brings his knife up and stabs Sendak in the thigh. 

Sendak cries out in pain. He moves from Keith immediately, and Keith quickly rolls to the side. The ceiling lights look so far away, zooming in and out of focus, alternating between blurry and clear. 

Keith shakily wipes at his eyes and tries to think of a plan. A sharp, metallic _cling_ grabs his attention, and he sees his knife—now stained red—sliding on the floor. If it's there and not embedded in Sendak's thigh, then clearly Sendak got it out. And if Sendak got it out then— 

"You brat!" Sendak hisses. Keith stiffens as Sendak starts to stagger down the hallway, but he doesn't stop in front of Keith.  

"No," Keith whispers. He slams a fist to the floor as he struggles to sit up. "Don't touch him." 

Sendak ignores his words and stalks toward Lance. Keith props his hands up on the wall behind him, desperate for some leverage, but his hands keep slipping away. Frustrated, he wipes the blood and sweat smearing his hands on his pants and shirt, and this time he barely manages to stand up. He looks over at Lance and Sendak, and he knows he won't make it. Just like how he couldn't make it when they first took Lance away.  

His legs shake as he walks, one of his ankles is injured, and he feels dizzy, but he keeps going toward Lance. He's finally able to control his flames again, but his vision still swims, so his aim will be off. He decides to take the risk and deal with the repercussions later. 

Keith brings both hands together, moves the fire around, watches the flames gather, watches them grow stronger as they form a ball. He caresses it, holds it up, aims, and throws. Then all that's left is to blindly hope it won't miss.

The ball sizzles toward Sendak, wild and furious. Keith watches it with hesitation; too scared to look but unable to look away. He takes a deep breath when it's just inches away from its target, but then Sendak ducks down, and the ball's target is now Lance. Keith's heart starts to thunder and he picks his feet up, urges himself to run even if he can't.  

And then he feels vibrations under his feet. Then he sees a mass of black easily deflect the flames and pick Lance up. Then it starts to run toward him. 

"Keith!" Shiro calls out. Keith wonders if he's hallucinating, but as Shiro runs he grabs Keith's wrist, urging him onward, and it feels _real._  

"Are you ok?" Shiro's eyes rake over him, taking in his obvious injuries. 

"I'll be ok once we get out of here," Keith says, panting as they tear down the hallway.  

"After them!" Sendak screams, and Keith allows himself to look back as they round a corner. He sees a group of guards chasing after them. 

"Sorry," Shiro says, wincing. "I lead them here. They were after me." 

"I know." Keith tries hard to keep up with Shiro's steady pace. "Pidge warned you?" 

"Yes. Tell her to keep tracking us and to bring the van to the nearest exit. I’d do it myself but my mic isn’t working." 

Keith brings a hand up to his ear when a voice thunders at him and Shiro, "I heard you through Keith’s mic, you idiots!" 

Shiro sighs, waiting for Keith to respond. Keith presses on his earpiece. "Pidge, is everything ok?" 

"No! It's not! You two are being chased by a whole _squad_ of guards, and you never even told me what you were planning to do! ' _I'll be fine,'"_ Pidge mocks. "You should've told me to help you!" 

Keith's head starts to pound. He's too weak to even argue with her. "Pidge, please, now is not the time." 

"Whatever," she grumbles. "Keep yourselves safe."  

Keith looks back again, cursing when he sees the amount of guards has only grown larger. He knows that soon enough they'll start coming in from all sides—not just the back.  

"Shiro," he starts. "How are we going to lose them?" 

Shiro adjusts his hold on Lance, and Keith tries to ignore the way Lance's head jolts as they run along. "We just need to stick together." 

A large set of double doors opens in front of them, and five guards enter.  

Shiro curses under his breath, and Keith quickly dodges all of them, turning to the left and continuing to run.  

"This way!" He shouts. "Shiro?" 

Keith finds the space to his right empty. He looks back and sees a group of guards chasing him, and another group running in the opposite direction. 

"Keith," Pidge's static voice sounds in his ear, "what the hell are you two doing now? Why have you _split up_?" 

"We were forced to," Keith says. 

"Oh my God," Pidge whispers under her breath. "Ok, listen, there's an exit up ahead. It'll take you outside, but there are a lot of stairs to climb. Can you handle it?" 

Keith's eyes lock on the door marked _emergency exit._  "Yeah," he says. "I can." 

"Great." Pidge starts typing away on her computer. The small light by the door's handle turns green. "I've unlocked it so you should have no problems. I'll even lock it so no one will follow you." 

Keith pants as he bursts through the door, slamming it shut behind him. He rushes up the stairs. "Thanks," he pants.  

"You _should_ be thankful," Pidge says. "You didn't even need your keycard. While you two _idiots_ were fighting and running, I hacked into their security system and changed some things so that keycards aren't needed anymore. Shiro? You heard that too, right?" 

"He can't talk. His mic broke. Remember?" 

Pidge sighs. “Alright. As long as he can hear me, we’ll be fine. Keith, is Lance with you?” 

“No. Shiro has him.” 

"Huh. Well, I guess it's better than letting  _you_ carry him." 

"What?" 

"Run faster," Pidge instructs, ignoring Keith’s question. "They saw what exit you're using, and the last thing we need is for them to wait for you at the top." 

Keith hisses in pain as he urges his legs to move faster. "Alright." 

"Shiro," Pidge drawls. "I know you can't talk, but your exit is to the right. It’s the second door from the elevator." 

Keith's steps echo in the empty stairwell as he rushes to get outside. His legs burn with exertion and his chest throbs terribly. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and realises, belatedly, that's it's actually blood. He ignores it and keeps going.  

"The door's unlocked, Keith," Pidge says.  

Keith is tempted to swear at her because she's clearly taunting him while he's in pain and suffering. But then he looks up and, instead of seeing a concrete set of stairs, he sees a door.  

He opens it and rushes outside, barely keeping himself from collapsing to the ground. But the exhilaration of making it out of the Institute— _for the second time_ —fuels him onward. He can do it. _They_ can do it. They'll save Lance and get out of here.  

"Keith, if you keep running in that direction, you'll see Shiro. There're a few guards behind you, but you've lost most of them." 

"Shiro," Keith pants. He takes a deep breath and tries again. "What about him?" 

"Oh..." Pidge trails off. "There's a lot of them chasing him." 

Keith jumps over a broken branch, wincing when he lands a bit awkwardly. Pain shoots up in his ankles and knees.  

In the distance, he sees a man carrying something in his arms, running from a much larger group of men. It's Shiro and Lance. 

"I see him," he tells Pidge.  

"Excellent." The sound of the van turning on is muffled, but Keith recognises it none the less. "Keep going. I'll bring the van over." 

Keith's lungs are burning—and not in the usual way. This time it's not the fire inside that's burning him; it's the pain and fatigue. He keeps at his speed, knowing it'll still be enough to outrun the guards, even though he'd prefer to slow down just for a bit to alleviate the burn.  

But the problem isn't him—it's Shiro.  

Keith blinks furiously, worrying he's seeing double, but upon further inspection, he notices that he isn't seeing two Shiros—one of the faster guards has caught up with him. 

And then he forgets about the pain and the burn. The whole world melts away until the Institute and the trees around him are nothing but a blur of colour. He picks up his speed, pumping his legs, feeling the buildup of pressure as he digs his heel into the ground and springs forward.  

The guard behind Shiro doesn't see him until he's already flying toward him. By then it's too late; Keith's leg—extended in an elegant kick—meets with the guard's head. The guard falls over while Keith tumbles into a roll. For a second he just lays there on the ground, too tired to move the tiniest inch, but Shiro's voice tears through him. 

"Keith! Get up! Don't stop!" 

Keith cries out as he gets back on his feet. He's too overwhelmed to control his fire; it starts licking up at his arms. The flames almost feel like wings. 

A grey van screeches to a halt up ahead. Shiro grunts in exertion as he tightly holds onto Lance's limp body. Keith can see his arms shake.  

"Shoot them!" A voice orders furiously. "Shoot them!" 

Keith grinds his teeth. It's Sendak’s voice.  

Gunshots fire in the air and Keith brings his arms up to protect his head. One of them grazes his thigh and he winces, barely managing to keep himself upright.  

Pidge starts turning the van around and drives toward them. Keith focuses his eyes on Shiro and Lance, and he moves closer to them, hoping to protect them from the bullets. 

The van screeches to a halt behind them and, looking back, Keith sees Pidge has blocked them from the group of guards. The door is already open, and despite the calamity, he hears her desperate shout, "Get in!" 

Keith practically throws himself in the back, wheezing as he ungracefully hits the van floor. He holds onto the back of the passenger's seat for support as he extends a hand. He doesn’t even realise that the flames on his arms have gone out. 

Shiro holds Lance up and Keith quickly grabs him, pulling him into the van. Gunshots continue to sound around them, and Pidge curses loudly each time they break one of the windows.  

Keith pants heavily as he draws Lance deeper into the van. His whole body shakes, and his legs are so weak he ends up falling back. Lance is sprawled across his lap, but Keith can't bring himself to move. Instead, he weaves his fingers into Lance's hair and tells himself that everything is ok. Lance is here with him—he's _right here._ Everything is ok. 

"Pidge! Drive!" Shiro shouts. He's leaning on the now closed door of the van, clutching his shoulder. Blood pours through his fingers.  

The van creaks and rocks as Pidge drives away. She doesn't slow over a bump in the road, and Keith hisses as his head sharply hits the floor.  

Pidge and Shiro start to talk, their voices rough and desperate, but Keith can't hear anything. He doesn't even want to hear what they're saying. The only thing he cares about is the boy resting on him. 

Lance is safe. They're _all_ safe. And with that final thought, everything turns black.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! I actually wanted to write a few more scenes for this chapter, but then I saw the word count was already over 10k, so I decided to end it here. so the next chapter might not be as long as this one coz all the scenes that should have been here will be in the next one. but it'll still probably be at least 5-7k :D 
> 
> thanks for reading!!! and thanks for all your support so far!! I hope you enjoyed it!!


	7. Chapter 7

Upon waking up, Keith is hit by a sense of deja vu. He blinks blearily up at the white ceiling, trying to piece together his fragmented memories. Looking around, he wonders why Lance’s apartment looks so different. The TV set is a lot larger (and more modern), the sofa is plush and clean; the whole place feels strange. A bit colder than it should.

“Oh,” a voice says. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

Shiro enters the room, eyes shining with obvious concern. 

“Why is Lance’s apartment so different?” Keith asks groggily. He slowly moves to sit up, his stiff joints protesting, pleading with him to keep still.

Shiro’s hands are firm and gentle on his back, helping him find a comfortable position. Keith breathes out slowly, feeling his body ebb with pain.

“This isn’t Lance’s apartment,” Shiro says. The corners of his lips tip down. “Don’t you remember what happened?”

Keith stares at him for the longest time, waiting for Shiro’s eyes and the lines of his face to spill the truth, to reveal to him what it is he’s clearly forgotten. His hands absently trace the bandages on his chest. He doesn’t even need to see them to know that Lance wasn’t the one that wrapped them—he can tell by touch alone.

“Oh,” he murmurs. Pictures of Lance’s rescue flash in his mind, everything from finding him to fighting Sendak all coming back at once. “This is Pidge’s apartment?”

Shiro shakes his head. “Her brother’s. He’s gone on a holiday, so Pidge said we could stay here. She said her apartment was too small.”

Keith nods slowly, ignoring his headache. He allows himself to lay back down, his tired body melting into the comfortable cushions. “How’s your…” he trails off, struggling to find the word as he starts to cough. “Your…uh…” he weakly points to his shoulder.

Shiro’s eyes light up in surprise. “It’s a bit sore, but it’s alright.” He tugs his shirt down, revealing the bandaged expanse of his shoulder. 

Keith stares at it so hard he starts seeing double.

“How’s Lance?” he asks eventually. “Where is he?”

“He’s doing ok. He’s still unconscious. We put him in one of the bedrooms. Pidge is looking after him for now.”

“He’s safe.” The words come out gently, meant more for Keith’s own state of mind than anyone else’s.

Shiro smiles and stands up. “Keep resting. You’re still injured.”

“Wait.”

Shiro pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Keith gestures for Shiro to come closer. “I need to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m going to see Allura—”

“I know that al—”

“—by myself.”

The words settle in the air, out of Keith’s mouth but not quite yet in Shiro’s ears. Keith knows because Shiro looks at him like he’s suddenly started babbling in another language. But then the words settle, and Shiro’s expression morphs into something…odd.

“That…” Shiro clasps his hands together. “That’s probably for the best.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. Between the two of them, Shiro has always been the calm, rational one, while Keith is nothing but impatience and fury. But calmness and rationality aren’t what Keith was hoping to get this time— _reality_ isn’t what he wanted. He wants comfort. He wants someone to hold his hand and tell him— _lie_ to him—that everything will be ok, that he doesn’t have to wear a mask made of steel and iron and all things impenetrable. 

Shiro’s answer isn’t what Keith wanted to hear. But it’s something he _needs_ ; for that, he is thankful. Yet the deepest, weakest part of him wonders what Lance would have said to him—if Lance would’ve held his hand and given him all the lies he wanted. 

“Does Pidge still have the van?” he asks, trying to be strong, keeping his mask on. 

“No. She got rid of it, but I have no idea where. Even if she did have it, it’s not a good idea to use it to drive to Allura’s. The guards saw it, you know.”

Keith shuts his eyes, places a palm on his forehead. His skin feels clammy. “Right. I forgot about that.”

“Rest some more,” Shiro says. “Do you want me to get you something? Food? Water?”

“Painkiller,” Keith mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Get me a painkiller.”

Shiro hums lowly. “Sendak was too rough…” he mutters in sympathy.

Keith’s mouth quirks up a bit, placing a hand over his aching heart.

This pain wasn’t caused by Sendak.

 

* * *

 

Day bleeds into night, marking exactly twenty-four hours since they infiltrated the Institute.

Now that his mind is clearer, Keith feels a lot calmer. Looking at things objectively, he realises he has no reason to be hurt or upset. Lance is safe, Shiro and Pidge are both safe, he’s safe; he should be overjoyed at the outcome. 

But a frown still tugs at his lips. Nothing is ever so simple—as one problem dies, another surges to take its place.

“Do you think he’ll wake up soon?”

Shiro places a few slices of bread on a large plate, buttering them up and then topping them with cheese and ham. Keith watches his smooth ministrations until Shiro’s arms seem to blur together. 

“He probably will.” Sharp dusts his hands off, setting the plate in front of Keith. He gestures to one of the sandwiches. Keith takes it but doesn’t eat.

“Shiro,” Keith starts, poking at the soft white bread. “I found him on level M3.”

Silence. “I know.” A whisper. 

Keith’s lip stings as he bites down on it. He opens his mouth to talk but quickly clamps it shut. He finally settles on a question. “Is it possible they experimented on him?”

Shiro takes a long sip of his coffee, refills it, and takes another sip. “It is. But it’s too early to say. We’ll need to wait until he wakes up.”

Keith takes a small bite of his sandwich. His mouth moves awkwardly as he forces himself to chew, and when he swallows it goes down rough like sandpaper. 

Part of him would prefer it if Lance would stay asleep forever if it meant he’d stay normal. 

“I know you’re worried, but we need to look at things logically,” Shiro tries to reason.

Keith scowls. “You can’t apply logic when it comes to the Institute. Their cruelty transcends logic.”

“We can’t lose hope,” Shiro says firmly. “Trust me. Everything will be ok.”

“I guess…”

“Eat up.” Shiro smoothly changes the topic as he pulls out a chair and sits down. “You need the energy.”

Keith tries not to grimace as he takes another bite of his sandwich. Chewing is more arduous than it’s ever been in his life, but swallowing still proves to be the most difficult. With each bite of the food, his stomach comes closer and closer to rejecting it. 

He takes a sip of water when he hears the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open. Keith shares a look with Shiro, both of them suddenly feeling expectant, as Pidge trudges into the kitchen. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, scratching her head. She drags herself over to a chair and collapses into it with a sigh.

“How’s Lance?” Shiro asks.

Pidge speaks through a yawn, her words muffled. “He’s fine. Still sleeping. I think he’ll wake up tomorrow.”

Keith nods slowly, tracing the marks that scratch the surface of the table. 

“That’s good,” Shiro says, smiling. “What about you? Aren’t you tired?”

“I am,” Pidge says. She yawns again. “I’m kinda hungry, so I came to get some food. Then I’ll go back to Lance.”

“You don’t have to watch over him,” Shiro points out gently. “He’s just sleeping.”

Pidge shifts, wringing her hands. “I know. But I don’t want him to be alone when he wakes up.”

Shiro laughs softly as he pats her on the head. “You should get some rest. Keith will keep an eye on Lance.”

“What?” Pidge and Keith say together, in perfect unison. 

Shiro blinks at them and sets his coffee mug down on the table. “What’s the problem?”

Keith frowns, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms. He might have proven himself to Pidge now that they’ve rescued Lance, but he doubts she’d let him be alone with him. He knows he’s tarnished the trust she had in him, and trust is something that isn’t easily repaired. 

“I’m cool with that.” Pidge shrugs.

Keith gapes for a moment. “What?”

“I’m happy as long as someone is there with Lance. If it can’t be me, then”—she points at Keith—“it can be you.”

“ _Me?”_ Keith balks. “What about Shiro?”

“Sorry, buddy,” Shiro says, raising his hands in surrender. “I can’t do it. I have some errands to run.”

Keith looks between the two of them and wonders, briefly, if they orchestrated this whole thing. He shakes his head, dismisses the ridiculous thought, and lets out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

 

* * *

 

The space that Lance occupies is always warm. Not in an overbearing, searing way—Lance’s warmth is subtle but strong. It radiates through the air, shimmers along the quirk of his lips, dances in his eyes, glitters in his cheeks. It catches the light as he moves, bends and refracts and reaches out until it touches everyone, soft and feather-light.

Right now, standing in this dark room, watching Lance sleep in Matt’s bed, Keith can’t feel it. He can’t feel Lance’s warmth. 

Lance himself looks worse for wear—which is, naturally, understandable, given all that he’s been through. The soft glow in his cheeks is now a pale pallor. The skin around his eyes is dark and sunken. His lips are dry and chapped, and his hair is matted and damp with sweat. Despite his haggard appearance, he somehow looks peaceful. Maybe, deep down in his unconscious mind, Lance knows he is safe now. Maybe that’s why he’s able to sleep so soundly.

Keith lingers at the foot of the bed, not sure where to sit or what to do. He ends up walking carefully to a chair that is right next to Lance. As he sits down, his eyes wander from Lance’s shoulder to his elbow and then to his hand. Keith’s own hand twitches.

He can still remember the first time he held Lance’s hand. It was a strong, comforting grip, clammy from panic but still undeniably _Lance_ —undeniably warm. Paired with his bright, crystal-clear eyes, it had been a lethal combination that Keith had ultimately succumbed to. Keith had taken his hand and let Lance pull him away from his old life—away from danger and pain and fear—and into something entirely new, something that had, for a moment, seemed just as dangerous, a bit more painful, and infinitely times scarier. 

Even now, Keith thinks, it still seems dangerous and painful and scary. _Especially now,_ he corrects. 

What would it feel like to hold Lance's hand right now? Would it still be warm? Would it still be comforting? Would all the lines and grooves of their palms fit as seamlessly as they had the first time?

He tears his gaze away, forcing the thoughts out of his mind. To distract himself, he focuses on the room he’s in. If Pidge hadn’t mentioned it was her brother’s, he would’ve thought it was hers. Unlike Shiro’s guest bedroom, this room is full of life and colour. The walls are painted in two different shades of brown, adjacent walls alternating in colour so that opposite walls match. The ceiling is a light, creamy colour, and the yellow carpet is fuzzy beneath Keith’s feet. On the bedside table closest to him, there’s a small lamp and a pile of books. 

Keith decides that Lance would like this room. Maybe that’s why Pidge put him in here instead of the less cluttered room next to it.

He sighs as he crosses his arms. He sighs again as he stretches his legs out. He sighs for a third time, shifting positions, unable to get comfortable.

Is he just supposed to sit here while he waits for either Pidge to come back or for Lance to wake up? It might sound a bit mean, but Keith does _not_ want to be in the room when Lance comes to. The very thought fills him with anxiety, not only because having Lance wake up means he’ll know for sure if they did something to him, but also because…he’s scared. How will Lance react to him? With anger? Resigned disappointed? Fear?

He rests his head in his hands, fervently rubbing at his eyes. Is this why Pidge stationed him here? Because she knows Lance will be upset? Because she knows just how much that’ll crush Keith?

Keith shuts his eyes and takes a breath. Whenever he was feeling worried or anxious, Lance would be there, alert and observant, prodding and poking until Keith’s walls came down and his secrets came out. That won’t— _can’t—_ happen now; Lance probably can’t hear him if he’s unconscious, so he certainly won’t be responding either. But the saddest, most unnerving thing is that if Lance wakes up with nothing but hatred and disdain for Keith, it’ll never happen again.

Actually…maybe it _can_ happen now. Keith doesn’t need a response; maybe all he’s ever needed is just for someone to listen. And the fact that Lance can’t hear him isn’t a deterrent at all; if anything, it makes things easier. So, Keith sits up, clears his throat, swallows, and prepares.

“Lance,” he says, cringing at the sound of his own voice. “Um…I know this is a bit dumb, and I know that you…might be mad at me. But there’re a few things I need to say.” 

He clears his throat again, glancing uneasily at the closed door. He shifts a little closer and drops his voice down to a whisper. “I just…want to apologise. I’ll apologise again when you wake up, but…” he bites his lip, trailing off. “I should have stopped you. From coming with me. From saving me. Then none of this would have happened.” 

Keith looks down at his hands. “I always cause pain for everyone around me. Even at the Institute. When I first got my…power…I, uh—couldn’t control it. So sometimes a couple of guards or doctors would end up hurt. And it was all my fault. But hurting Alfor and Shiro—hurting _you…_ feels a lot worse.”

Keith fixes his gaze back on Lance, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest. “If they did something to you,” he whispers, “I’ll never forgive myself.” His eyes start to prick at the edges, and he says those words again, lets them echo in his mind and heart. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

Lance continues to sleep, his chest continues to rise and fall, and Keith wants to stop talking. But once he starts it’s hard to stop, because tearing a wall down is a lot easier than building it back up.

“I’m going to go see Allura,” he starts. “By myself.” He startles suddenly, a dark realisation creeping up on him. “I guess that if they experimented on you, then…you’ll need to come with me. But if they didn’t, and you’re still…”— _normal—_ “I’m going to go alone.”

Alone. Keith really hates that word. He has always been alone, from birth all up until now. He will _always_ be alone; some people were just born for solitude. But it’s not what he wants, especially now that he knows what it’s like to spend time with someone, rely on them, trust them. 

It’ll be hard to leave Lance—and Keith feels so selfish for even _thinking_ that—but it’s for the best. Lance, Shiro, Pidge—they will all go back to living their normal lives. They will be safe and happy and, eventually, they’ll forget all about the strange boy that could summon fire.

But Keith will never forget the boy that saved him.

He inclines his head up, counting the number of star stickers on the ceiling. Each time his eyes land on a star, he tells himself that everything will be ok. He figures if he repeats it enough times, he’ll start to believe it. And then he can stop counting.

He runs out of stars.

 

* * *

 

Keith sinks deep into the sofa, fighting to keep his eyes open. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting soft, orange light all around the living room. The TV remote is limp in Shiro’s hands as his head lolls to the side.

A door slams open, footsteps patter across the floor, and then a voice is shrieking at them. “Guys!”

Keith jerks awake, body tense, breath halted. Pidge practically hums with excitement, her eyes wide and shining with glee. 

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks, composing himself. 

“Lance is awake!” Pidge announces. She takes off down the hall, rushing back to Lance’s bedside.

Keith takes a moment to process the words. After being unconscious for two days, Lance is finally awake. _He’s awake._

Keith’s up and out of his seat in an instant. He moves to walk forward but pauses at the last moment. He has no idea what to do.

Shiro presses firmly on his back, nudging him after Pidge. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s see how he’s doing.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, voice hitching in panic. He tries to turn back around, digs his heels into the floor to stop moving, but Shiro continues to push, and Keith’s socked feet continue to glide across the wooden floor. “I can’t see him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I think it’s better if I stay out here.”

Shiro’s features soften. “He’d want to see you.”

Keith startles so hard that Shiro finally lets him swivel around. “How do you know?”

“Intuition,” Shiro says, smiling. “And wisdom.”

“I—”

“Come on,” Shiro coaxes. “Let’s go.”

Thankfully, Shiro is the one that takes the lead, walking onward with confidence. Every single one of his steps is calm and sure, and Keith tries his best to follow along, lines his own steps up with Shiro’s. Shiro pauses when he reaches the door to Lance’s—rather, Matt’s—room, gently swinging it open. 

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Pidge asks. She flits around Lance, adjusting the pillows, smoothening his blanket, drawing the curtains open to let some light in but shutting them just as fast when Lance winces.

“I’m sure,” Lance says. His laugh is light and airy, and the sound leaves Keith reeling, a stark reminder that Lance really _is_ here, and he really _is_ ok.

“Shiro,” Lance croaks. “It’s good to see you.”

Shiro steps closer, patting Lance on the knee. “Hey, buddy,” he says. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Pidge says you helped rescue me,” Lance says. He smiles. “Thank you.”

Shiro shakes his head. “You don't need to thank me for that.”

“No,” Lance groans as he struggles to sit up, “you went back there to help me, even though you don't know me that well.” He looks over at Pidge. “And you,” he chuckles, ruffling her hair. “Thanks, Pidge.”

“…Damn it,” Pidge whispers, laughing softly. She sniffs, taking off her glasses and wiping her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re ok.”

Keith should leave. He doesn’t belong here. He’s an outsider. He’s an outcast. He should—

“Keith,” Lance says suddenly. 

Keith tenses up immediately, tightening his grip on the doorknob. It’d be so much easier to leave—a lot less painful as well. Probably. But before he can do so much as turn around, Shiro’s stepping aside and shoving him forward. 

“Hey, Shiro—” Keith stammers, tensing up under all the scrutiny. But Shiro’s giving him a smile, and even Pidge’s lips are turned up at the corners. And Lance—

Lance _beams._ “Keith. You saved me.”

Standing here, right next to Lance, makes him feel very uncomfortable. Keith resists his natural impulse to bolt out the door, or to shy away from Lance’s gaze. But he keeps grounded, plants his feet on the floor, and notices that if he looks long enough, he can see stars in Lance’s eyes.

“No, it was really a team effort—”

“Still,” Lance says, grabbing his hand and giving it a firm squeeze. The action leaves Keith absolutely _winded_. “You were the one that found me. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Keith blurts. Lance is the one that had been kidnapped and drugged, yet it isn’t his hand that’s shaking. “This is all my fault. Lance, I’m so—”

“I forgive you.”

Keith doesn’t deserve this. He shouldn't be treated so kindly. “What?”

Lance sighs, but there’s a playful smirk on his lips. “I should have been more careful that day. I tried sneaking around a bit but before I knew it, I was being dragged away by two guards. I know you’re blaming yourself, but you shouldn’t.”

To Keith, the scariest thing isn’t how forgiving Lance is to someone as undeserving as him; it’s that fact that if Pidge and Shiro weren’t in the room with them right now, he’d probably start to cry.

“You guys,” Pidge groans. “Stop being so sappy. I’ll start crying…Again.”

Lance’s eyes widen a bit. “You guys aren’t injured, right?” he asks.

Shiro raises a hand to placate him. “Just a few minor scratches. Nothing to worry about.”

Lance sighs in relief. “Thank god…”

“We need to ask you something,” Shiro starts. His calm, happy tone melts away into something more serious. Keith doesn’t like it.

“What is it?” 

Keith and Pidge share a look of unease before turning to Lance, prepared to gauge his reaction. 

“Do you remember anything from the Institute?” Shiro asks. “Do you remember if they…did something?”

The silence stretches on. Keith prepares himself for the worst case scenario, the images already flooding his mind.

 _They hurt me,_ Lance will say, and Keith will choke on a breath.

 _They tortured me,_ Lance will say, and Keith’s heart will plummet to the floor, taking his stomach along for the ride as it drops down.

 _They poked me and prodded me and injected something into me,_ Lance will say. _They experimented on me_ , is what Keith will hear, and it will destroy him.

“I—” Lance pauses, hesitates, frowns. And sighs. “I can’t remember.”

Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up. “You can’t remember?”

Lance shakes his head. Keith grips his hand just a bit tighter, tells himself it’s to steady Lance and _certainly_ not to steady himself. 

“Lance,” he steels himself and meets those deep, dangerous eyes. “This is important. I know it must be…hard for you, but you need to tell us. Please.”

“Keith, buddy, trust me. I would if I could remember anything, but I don’t. I seriously don’t.”

“Huh…” Pidge murmurs. “Could it be the drug?”

“Drug? I was drugged?” Lance balks.

Keith sends a glare toward Pidge, to which she responds with a shrug. “He deserves to know what happened.”

“What is the last thing you remember?” Shiro interjects.

“Uh…” Lance trails off as he thinks. “When they were dragging me out of the warehouse. I remember that. And then I can remember some of the Institute. Like the white walls, and going into a room. But that’s it.”

“Listen…” Keith mutters. For a brief moment, he looks down at his and Lance’s joined hands, but he snaps his gaze away, meets Lance’s again. He can’t be strong for himself, but he needs to at least try and be strong—for Lance. “There’s a chance that they did something to you. Experimented on you.”

“Oh…” Lance’s brows furrow and he bites his lip. “I kind of figured there was a chance something happened, but…can you tell? Like, are there some kind of symptoms or…?”

“I can't tell right now. It's too soon.”

“Do you think that I’ve become like you?”

Keith takes in a sharp breath, lost for words. Thinking and hoping are two different things, and right now, he can’t decide which one sways his decision.

“We’re just letting you know as a warning,” Shiro explains. “But honestly, I think you’re fine. The only reason they took you was to use you as bait to lure Keith.”

“It’s true,” Pidge cuts in. “I mean, they had to know that there was a chance Keith would save you. Why would they waste resources experimenting on you, if you’d just end up escaping? It doesn’t make sense.”

Relief swims in Lance’s eyes, drowning the mild panic that had momentarily swirled around the edge of his irises. He shares a moment with Shiro and Pidge, gazing at them thoughtfully, before turning back to Keith.

“What do you think?” he asks. There’s something in his gaze that almost seems like he’s begging for reassurance—even if it isn’t the truth. Keith would recognise that look anywhere; he’s seen it on himself countless times.

“They’re right,” Keith says, even if he’s still worried. Even if he’s still not 100% certain.

 

* * *

 

Keith sits in the dining room, idly flipping the pages of Pidge’s tech magazine. He doesn’t understand the majority of it, but the pictures are interesting enough to look at, so he isn’t entirely bored. He flicks his wrist, turning the page to an article about the latest video game consoles, when he hears a screech across the floor.

“Afternoon,” Lance says, voice slurring. He yawns as he throws himself into the chair, resting his elbow on the table, propping his cheek up with his hand,

Keith gives him a look. “You should be in bed.”

“Please,” Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes. “All I’ve done these past few days is sleep. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m sick of just laying around.”

“But you’re still weak. You need to rest.”

“I’m not weak!” Lance argues, affronted. He grins cockily. “It’ll take a lot more to knock me down.”

Lance looks a lot better now than he had when he first woke up. A couple of days rest really has done him well—even if he claims it’s boring. His behaviour seems fairly normal too; at first glance, that is. 

The most noticeable change is his smile; it always takes a bit longer than usual for it to reach his eyes. Sometimes, it never even gets there, instead just stopping midway.

Shiro and Pidge tip-toe around him, showering him with lavish attention and care. They mean well, but Keith sometimes thinks it’d be better for them to just treat Lance as they normally would. Lance isn’t stupid; he knows the only reason Pidge doesn’t groan and swat his hand away when he starts ruffling her hair is that she’s trying to make him feel better. Maybe that’s not what he needs—not what he wants. Maybe all he wants is a semblance of his old life back, the illusion of still being in control when everything is falling apart.

It must be the amnesia. In Lance’s mind, there’s a huge chunk of blank space, once occupied by something but now completely empty. It’s obviously bothering him, because that emptiness contains all of the answers to their burning questions. 

 _He’s pushing himself,_ Keith muses, _to try to remember._ It explains his fatigue, his blank looks, his fake smiles. 

But what if Lance’s odd behaviour isn’t a result of his amnesia, but rather, the side effects of human experimentation?

Keith can remember his own symptoms. They’d started to occur days after he had first been strapped to a table and prodded at with intimidating needles. The most forthcoming one was the pain—the cruel, unyielding, unrelenting pain. It had burrowed into his bones, settled in as deep as it could, and burned from the inside out, a constant thrum of agony. He doesn’t feel that pain anymore, but if he ever stays still for too long—stays silent long enough to hear the ominous hum in his bones—the pain comes back.

But Lance isn’t affected by this pain—if he were, he’d be curled up on the floor, screaming and crying until his throat gets raw. 

Another symptom was insomnia. Once the power had started to flow in his veins, Keith stopped feeling tired. He couldn't sleep for an entire week. That’s another aspect that’s different to Lance—while Lance insists he’s slept enough, it’s an obvious lie. Even now, his eyes droop as he staves sleep.

The longer Keith thinks about it, the more symptoms he runs through his mind, the less likely he thinks that Lance was used as an experiment. The thought is reassuring, but he still feels like there’s something wrong…

“You’re staring at me,” Lance observes, eyes shut.

Keith flips another page of his magazine. “I’m not.”

Lance smiles, but his eyes remain shut. “You’re worrying about something.”

“Can you really blame me for that?”

Lance’s eyes shoot open. “I guess not.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Keith hisses. 

“Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“Because I did this to you.”

Lance scoffs at him. “Oh, right. I’m _so_ mad, Keith. I still remember when you knocked me out and drove me to the Institute. Thanks for that.”

Keith pushes the magazine aside, worried he’ll tear it to shreds. “That’s not what I meant.”

Lance’s features soften for the briefest moment. “I know,” he whispers. “But it wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could to keep me safe.”

“You shouldn't have done it.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Done what?” After a beat of silence, he must find the answer because he starts to laugh. “I’d do it again, you know.”

“Do what?” Keith asks, even though he knows what Lance is talking about.

_Save you._

“I guess now we’re even,” Lance observes. “I saved you, and you saved me.”

Keith is reminded, for what feels like the hundredth time, of the one question that eats away at him, day and night. 

_Why did you save me?_

Should he ask?

_Why did you save me?_

Maybe he shouldn’t. 

_Why did you save me?_

But if he’s going to leave soon, he might never get a chance to ask again.

_Why did you save me?_

“Lance,” he says, one word out, hoping that the rest will fall into place. “Why—”

He hopes Lance can’t hear the frantic beating of his heart. He removes his hands from the table, wrings them in his lap. 

“Yeah?” Lance asks. 

Keith swallows razors and shards of glass. “Why…why did…” He shakes his head. “Why…don’t you eat something?”

He can’t do it. 

Lance scratches his cheek. “I’ll eat later. I’m not hungry right now.”

Keith can’t ask.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ok, Pidge, can you please pass me the carrots and—Keith, are you _crying?”_

Keith sets the knife down with a dull _clang._ “I’m not,” he sniffs, wiping his eyes carefully with his forearm. “It’s the _onions_.”

Pidge snickers, passing a few carrots to Shiro. “Keith is like an onion.”

Keith picks the knife back up and resumes cutting. “Huh?”

“She’s right,” Lance muses with a smirk. He leans over the counter, takes an onion, and starts peeling. “He’s full of layers.”

Pidge starts laughing so hard she ends up dropping a carrot. Even Shiro, Keith notes with resignation, lets out a chuckle or two.

“What’s so funny?” Keith asks with what he hopes is a convincing frown. With his red-rimmed, watery eyes, it probably looks more like a pout.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance says, patting his shoulder. “I’ll explain later.” 

“Whatever,” Keith grumbles, continuing to slice onions.

“Ok, guys, we’re almost done,” Shiro calls out from the stove. “Pidge, Lance, go set the table. Keith and I will finish things here.”

“You got it,” Lance says, balancing way too many plates on one hand. “Check it out, Pidge,” he boasts. 

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Don’t drop them,” she teases, following him out of the kitchen.

Keith sighs as he slices through the last onion.

“Did you tell them?” Shiro asks.

Keith feigns ignorance. “About what?”

Shiro shoots him a look. “That you’re leaving tomorrow.”

 _Tonight,_ Keith wants to correct, but he keeps his mouth shut. Not even Shiro knows he plans on sneaking out while they’re all asleep.

“No. It’s better if they don't know.” It’s easier.

“If you say so…but I still think they deserve to know.”

“They should never have gotten involved in the first place,” Keith mutters. He winces as he nicks his skin, and a small blob of blood gathers at the cut. “I’m just setting things back on track. The way they should be.”

Shiro nods. “I understand that, but Lance will probably be upset.”

Keith shrugs. 

“What should I tell them?” Shiro asks, stirring the pot of soup simmering on the stove. 

“The truth. Tell them I’m going to see Allura.”

Shiro lets out a sigh, setting the soup aside and turning the stove off. “So this is really it, huh? This is your last night.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

“Well…” Shiro gives him a smile. “You better make it count.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner with everyone is pleasant. Lance and Pidge joke around, Shiro offers witty comments, and Keith gets to sit there and take it all in. If anyone notices the tinge of sadness in his smile, they don't mention it. For that, he’s glad. He just wants one night where he can pretend things are normal. One night he can remember forever.

After a week of careful observation, Keith and Shiro both finally concluded that Lance is ok—the Institute didn’t experiment on him. Now that Keith knows this, he can continue with his original plan of finding Allura and getting cured.

Out of everything, he thinks he’ll miss Lance’s smile the most. Or no, maybe not his smile, but his deep, blue eyes. Ah, but his laugh is nice, too—a sound that is as gentle as it is rough, as wild as it is passionate. Or maybe there isn’t a single, particular thing he’ll miss about Lance, because he’ll miss him as a whole, in his entirety, from his smile to his eyes to his laugh and everything in between. 

Shiro finishes eating first but remains at the table. Pidge asks him why he doesn’t go watch TV, to which he just shrugs, shooting Keith the briefest glance.

Pidge finishes next, setting aside her empty bowl of soup. “Come on,” she says, tugging Shiro’s arm. “Let’s watch TV.”

Shiro protests for a while, but relents when Keith gives him a small nod.

Lance and Keith continue to eat in silence. 

“You don't have to keep me company,” Lance says. Keith raises an eyebrow in question, and Lance simply nods at his now empty bowl. “You can leave if you want.”

“I don’t mind staying,” Keith says, shrugging. 

Lance smiles in appreciation, taking a small sip of his soup. He eats a lot slower than he usually does, but Keith attributes that to stress.

He could do it—ask Lance the question he’s been meaning to for a while now. He could ask and just be done with it, face the truth no matter how grim or unsatisfying of an answer he gets. 

“Guys!” Pidge calls. “Get in here! Our show’s staring!”

Keith takes her interruption as a sign; he keeps quiet. He doesn’t ask.

Lance’s face lights up and he shoves a few spoonfuls of soup in his mouth. He gets up on his feet. “Don’t start without us!” He takes Keith by the arm and hauls him up, pushing him to the living room.

Hours later, Pidge declares there’s nothing good on TV and angrily turns it off, opting to read a book instead. Lance lounges on the sofa, napping, while Shiro and Keith disappear into the kitchen.

“Did you figure out how you’ll get there?”

“Train,” Keith mutters lowly.

“I’ll lend you some money.”

“Shiro, it’s fine. You’ve done enough to help me.”

Shiro shakes his head. “You’ll need money for the ticket. How were you planning on paying?”

Keith’s cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He can’t tell Shiro that he really hasn’t planned anything at all. 

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Let’s make a deal,” Shiro says. He leans in closer to whisper. “I lend you some money, and once Allura cures you, you can come back here to repay me.”

“Here?” Keith asks. “You’re not returning to your apartment?” 

“It’s a bit risky,” Shiro explains. “I’ll stay here for a while to lay low. Pidge said Matt wouldn't mind.”

“And Lance? He can’t go back to his apartment.”

“I imagine Pidge will either let him stay here as well, or she’ll let him stay in her own apartment.”

“Just make sure he isn’t alone,” Keith says. “Make sure he doesn’t live by himself. For a few weeks, at least.”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ll keep him safe.” Shiro clears his throat before whispering, “Anyway, do we have a deal, or not?”

“Fine. But I don't know if I can repay you with money.”

“That’s not a problem,” Shiro says calmly. “I can find something for you to do. Like cleaning the toilet.”

Keith wonders if Shiro knows that once he’s gone, he probably won’t come back. Shiro probably does know, and this is just his elaborate way of getting Keith to accept his money.

Keith allows himself to smile. Allows himself to enjoy this moment of peace. Allows himself to relax and for the calm to embrace him.

Until Pidge starts to scream.

Keith and Shiro stand up in alarm and run to the living room. Shiro steps in first and almost immediately pauses at the door, his entire body as still as a statue.

“Shiro?” Keith asks from behind. “What’s wrong?” 

Shiro stays silent, his mouth agape, eyes wide. Keith braces himself and steps around him, setting his eyes on a frantic Pidge.

He cannot comprehend what he sees.

“Guys,” Pidge shrieks, her usual calm demeanour replaced by a flurry of panic. Her shaky hands hover over Lance’s body, as if she isn’t sure if it’s safe to touch him. “What’s wrong with him?”

Lance is on the floor, arms and legs wildly thrashing around, muscles jerking left and right. His eyes are shut tightly and his breathing is laboured. But this isn’t the most concerning thing—not by far.

There’s something on his hands. It’s pale white, seemingly delicate, almost translucent, and it climbs up and up, spreading from his fingertips to his palms, circling around his wrists.

Keith approaches with trepidation, his heart sinking to his stomach. He ignores Pidge’s cries of warning and kneels next to Lance’s thrashing body.

“Hold his legs,” Keith whispers.

Pidge does as requested, shakily grabbing Lance’s ankles and pinning them to the floor. His body continues to convulse, and Keith notes the way his eyes are scrunched up, the grimace stretched across his mouth.

Keith reaches for his cold hands.

“What is it?” Shiro asks from behind him.

Keith runs his fingers over the cold white substance. The coldness seeps into him, numbing him all over.

“It’s ice.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just when u think things are getting better...they get worse ;)
> 
> as usual, thanks for reading and I hoped you enjoyed it! and I also want to thank everyone who has left me kudos or commented, I really appreciate it :D


	8. Chapter 8

For his entire life, Keith has been running.

He runs toward danger, fuelled by impulse and the anger singing in his veins, the scowl on his face marred by confidence and the naivety of youth, his mind and body and soul and everything that makes him _him_ chanting in his mind:  _you can do it, you are indestructible._

He runs from danger, runs as fast as he can, holding on to the panic within because he knows if he lets it go, it’ll all be over. This time the scowl is carved into his face by pain and fear, and if someone were to spend hours upon hours mapping all the curves of his lips, they’d see that it isn’t really a scowl at all—it’s a grimace.

But when faced with a problem, he’s caught in a dilemma. He doesn’t run toward it, doesn’t run away from it— he just _runs,_ trusting his instincts and ignoring his sense of direction, because acknowledging a direction means he’s acknowledging the problem. 

He can still remember the first time he did this—he was four, and he hadn’t seen his mother in weeks. The memory is fuzzy—it doesn’t play out in his head like a photo reel or a movie strip. Instead, it comes to him in bits and pieces: hesitant steps on creaky floorboards, strong hands gripping his shoulders, his father’s sad eyes, the pain that sprouts in his chest when he hears his father’s words.

_“Your mother has gone away. She's left us.”_

From that point, his memory is crystal clear. That’s when he started to run.

At that time, his four-year-old mind didn’t comprehend that he was running until he felt the burn in his throat, the shudder in his lungs. He focused on this feeling, used it to hinge himself to reality, but after a while, it all melted away. The bushes and trees he passed were all a blur, the house he’d left behind a tiny, minuscule dot somewhere in the distance, small and insignificant. 

He ran because he thought that if he ran fast enough for long enough, he’d find his mother. He ran because he couldn’t stand the thought of being in that small house, acknowledging that now it’s just him and his father, by themselves. _Alone._

He didn’t stop running until a firm hand settled on his shoulder and pulled him back home. Even if he physically stopped moving, part of him kept running. Part of him is _still_ running. 

Even now, as he sits in the passenger seat of Matt’s car, he doesn’t feel like he’s sitting still. Even now, he runs.

The mood in the car is sombre. Shiro stares straight ahead, his full attention devoted to driving, his movements stiff as he turns the steering wheel. Pidge sits in the back, her mouth pressed into a firm line. And Lance sits next to her, head against the window, eyes closed tightly. 

It looks like he’s asleep, but they all know he isn’t—his breathing isn’t calm enough, his face is too tense, his posture too stiff. But it’s probably easier for him if he pretends to sleep. 

Memories of last night swirl around in Keith's mind. Even though he keeps his eyes open, even though he stares out the window, even though he's wide awake, the images still linger, fresh and persistent. They'll linger today and tomorrow and a week from now. They'll linger in a month’s time. They'll linger forever. 

It had taken half an hour to calm Lance down—or rather, to wait until he calmed down on his own, until his already tired body lost all of its energy and finally stopped convulsing. For the whole time, Pidge kept her fingers wrapped around Lance's ankles, occasionally sliding up and pinning his knees down when his thrashing became too severe. Shiro had hurriedly moved from kitchen to living room, bringing warm water and painkillers and anything else he thought Lance would need when he woke up. Then he'd settled near Lance's head, whispering words of comfort and keeping his shoulders steady. 

Keith held his hands. He held Lance's cold hands in his own, clasped them firmly, bowed down low so that his head almost touched Lance's chest. He didn't let go when Lance thrashed around, and he didn't let go when Lance finally stilled. 

Then he allowed his hands to grow impossibly warm, and he watched as the ice on Lance started to melt, taking all of the numbing cold away. It came back a few minutes later, tracing aggressive lines on Lance's palms and in between his fingers, but Keith just melted it away again. He did this even when his own hands started to cramp up. He kept doing it even when Pidge and Shiro moved from their positions. 

Everyone held their breaths when Lance finally opened his eyes. He looked around for a moment, trying to place Pidge's tear-stricken face, trying to comprehend Shiro's worried frown, trying to see past Keith's hard look. But then his eyes trailed down to his hands and he saw the ice blooming on his skin. 

Lance had looked at Keith, expression bordering on frantic, and he'd said just one thing as the realisation hit him. "Oh."

Keith is torn roughly from the memory as the car comes to a sudden halt. Shiro smiles in apology, carefully manoeuvring into a petrol station.

"Does anyone need anything?" He asks just before he steps out of the car.

"I'm good," Pidge whispers. She gently nudges Lance and asks him the same question. 

"Oh," Lance says. "Uh...no. I'm fine." He tries to smile but it falters at the edges.

Shiro gets out of the car, walks around, and starts filling the petrol tank. Keith sits anxiously, sweat gathering at his brow from the tense silence. He makes the mistake of looking in the rear-view mirror because he ends up meeting Lance's eyes in the reflection.

Keith sucks in a breath. He can't stand it anymore—the air in the car is too stifling. Before he can even think it over, he's opening the door and stepping outside. He stands next to Shiro, making sure to keep his back to the car.

Shiro briefly glances at him but doesn't make any comments. Keith is glad for that, and simply stands there, arms folding over his chest.

"Here," Shiro mutters, reaching toward him. Keith steps back on instinct, but Shiro's just tugs the cap on his head further down.

Keith frowns, adjusting his cap the instant Shiro lets go. "What was that for?"

"Make sure to keep your hair covered. We don't want to be recognised."

Everyone except for Pidge is decked out in a disguise. Keith is wearing loose, baggy clothes, his hair tucked away under a cap. Lance keeps his hood up over his head and has taken to wearing gloves—which probably aren't for a disguise anymore. Shiro's features are a bit harder to obscure. He's wearing a beanie to hide his white tuft of hair, as well as some (in Keith's opinion) ridiculous looking fake glasses to hide the scar across his nose. 

"It's fine," Keith mutters as he tries pulling his collar up a bit higher. "They won't."

Shiro turns his attention back to the petrol pump. "How is he?" he whispers.

Keith scuffs the dirty ground with the tip of his shoe. "Why ask me? Pidge is his friend."

Shiro gives him a look he can't quite decipher. "He seems to be taking it better than expected."

Keith shrugs. "I think he's still in shock."

"He won't have to deal with this for long. If we keep at this pace, we'll get to Allura’s house by the end of the week."

Keith wants to say something. He wants to argue that Lance shouldn't be dealing with this in the first place. But he stays quiet, bites down on his tongue to keep the words inside. 

"Wait here," Shiro instructs. "I'm just going to pay."

Keith nods, but the sound of a car rumbling to life steals his attention. His eyes drift over to a sleek red sports car, watching intently as it tears out of the petrol station and barrels down the road, revving as it accelerates. 

His feet itch with the urge to chase after it. He might never catch up, but that isn't the point. The point is just to have a moment of peace, to be out in the open, wild and free.

 

* * *

 

“Here,” the woman at the reception desk says, throwing a set of keys on the counter. “Rooms 101 and 112.”

Shiro smiles tightly, swiping the keys with a gloved hand. “Thank you.”

The woman sniffs, brushes a few strands of messy hair away from her face. “Enjoy your stay.”

Shiro hands one of the keys to Keith and places the other in his pocket. “Come on,” he says, slinging his small bag up on his shoulder. “Let’s find our rooms.”

Keith is quick to follow, easily picking up his own bag and making his way up the staircase. They creak and groan under his feet, a testament to just how old this hotel is. But old means cheap, and they don’t have the money to spend on something a bit more lavish. 

Pidge picks up the remaining bags before Lance can even touch them. He frowns at her and starts to protest, nudging her in the side to try and dislodge one of the bags. He doesn’t, Keith notices, try and reach for the bags. Instead, his hands remain firmly tucked in his pockets.

“Everything ok?”

Keith blinks up at Shiro, who is already at the top of the stairs. He rushes up just as Shiro starts walking away.

“I’m staying with you,” Keith says.

Shiro startles back a bit. “Not with Lance?”

The words make Keith bristle. “Why would I stay with him?”

“Well…I mean, the two of you seem close. And I thought it’d be a good idea for the two of you to talk. You haven’t said a word to him since last night.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Keith says gruffly, even as the words puncture his heart. It’s not true—there’s _so much_ to say. So much he _wants_ to say. But after everything that’s happened, it feels wrong to even meet Lance’s eyes, let alone talk to him.

“Nothing to say?” Shiro repeats. His kind, understanding, older brother-like tone fades into something that’s a bit sharper, digs a little deeper. He looks back at the staircase, makes sure Lance and Pidge are out of earshot, and leans down close to Keith’s ear. “Lance needs your support right now. You can’t keep ignoring him.”

Keith balls his hands into fists. “Whatever,” he hisses.

Shiro frowns. “Keith, how did you feel when you first got your power? Sad? Angry? Don’t you think Lance feels the same way right now? If you just talk to him, then—”

“You don't get it,” Keith snarls. He tightens his fingers around the key in his pocket, taking it out and shoving it into the lock. “You don’t get _anything._ ”

“Then help me understand.” 

Keith squares his jaw as he turns the key over and over, but the door remains shut. The frustration bubbles inside, simpering beneath his skin, just waiting for him to crack so that it can leak through and taint him more than it already has. “Damn it,” he growls. 

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice is back to his usual tone. He places his hand over Keith’s, effectively stilling his movements. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, guys?”

Shiro turns toward Pidge and Lance, but Keith keeps his eyes trained on the floor. 

“Yeah?” Shiro asks. “What’s wrong, Pidge?”

Pidge glances uneasily between Keith and Lance. “I just thought that…I mean…are you guys…?”

Shiro smiles apologetically. “Here,” he throws his key toward her, and Pidge fumbles to catch it, “the key to your room.”

“Oh…” Pidge whispers. “I thought that—”

“The door’s unlocked,” Keith murmurs, swinging the door open. He doesn’t wait for a response and barges in, throwing his bag haphazardly onto a nearby chair. 

Shiro lets out a long sigh. “Lance, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. We’ll be right here.”

“Yeah,” Lance rasps. Keith doesn’t turn around to look at him. “Thanks.”

Shiro bids them a good night and Keith waits until he hears Pidge and Lance depart into their own room to finally breathe. He walks to the bed furthest from the door and collapses onto it, face first.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Shiro says. “I need to talk to the receptionist.”

The door slams shut and Keith rolls onto his side, facing the wall. 

His mother, all those years ago, when he was still so young, must have seen something in him—a curse, a bad omen, a magnet that attracts danger and sadness and everything bad. She must have known—must have _felt_ —that being around him would cause her nothing but trouble. That’s why she left. Keith can’t even be mad at her for it because she was right. A year after she walked out of his life, his father left him, too. But his departure was a bit different to hers—a bit more permanent. While Keith knew his mother would never come back, she _could._ His father couldn’t. 

Keith had sat on the cold floor in his dark house, waiting for his father to come home. Then there were people at the door, people barging into his cold house; a fuss, a commotion. He was put into a room, surrounded by police officers, made to talk about and understanding things a child should never have to know about or deal with. He was put into another room, a room colder than his house, with too many children and too few beds. 

That’s when his problems started. That’s when his sadness and despair turned into anger and rage. That’s when he screamed and shouted, swung fists and legs, broke noses and arms and legs—not his, but others’. He was always angry, always violent, always causing pain.

Then he came to the Institute, and they decided to take his anger and turn it into something ferocious—something dangerous.

Keith closes his eyes tightly, breathes in and out. There’s only one person he’s known who he hasn’t hurt. One person who was smart enough to leave before he could. His mother. She knew that when it comes to a person like Keith—a person cursed to hurt those who get too close, scald them like a flame would to a moth—the only solution is distance.

Distance: the one thing he’d try to put between himself and Lance, but ultimately failed to do so. The one thing that would have prevented this entire mess. But now, things will be different. Keith doesn’t want to hurt Lance anymore, and he’s not going to. He’ll make sure of it. 

So he wraps his arms around himself and tries not to think about Lance, cold and shivering and _suffering_ , just two doors away, all because of him. As much as he wants to approach Lance and be by his side, doing so will only cause more pain. He won’t let that happen. He won’t hurt him again.

 

* * *

 

It’s the middle of the night and Keith is still awake. He’s physically tired and mentally drained, but no matter how tightly he shuts his eyes, no matter how still he lies and how slowly he breathes, sleep continues to elude him.

Keith tosses and turns, hair tangled, clothes rustling. He sighs and sits up slowly, wincing as the bed squeaks as he moves. He stills for a second, holding his breath as he checks to see if Shiro is still asleep. Shiro doesn’t move, and his chest still rises and falls in a steady pattern. Keith throws his blanket aside and gets to his feet, silently making his way to the hallway.

When he shuts the door behind him, he lets out a sigh. He leans against it for a moment, staring blankly as his shadow flickers beneath his feet. He observes the broken light on the ceiling before turning toward the stairs. He pretends not to see the door to Lance and Pidge’s room—but he can’t pretend he doesn’t hear their voices.

Keith halts at the top of the stairs, conflicted. His hand grips the banister so hard he feels he might crush it under his hold. He needs to stay _away_ from Lance. He needs to walk outside and get some fresh air. Ideally, he’d walk outside and just keep walking, on and on, leaving Lance and Shiro and Pidge behind. 

His foot is down on the first step when he hears Pidge raise her voice.

“I don’t know what to do!” she cries. 

Keith hates himself for stepping away from the staircase. Hates himself even more when he stands in front of their door, body tense, straining to hear.

“Wait,” Lance rasps. He almost sounds like he’s in pain. “Pidge, it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not! Look at your hands!”

Keith digs his nails into his palms. 

“I know,” Lance says, voice shaking. “I—I don’t know what to do either. I don’t”—he pauses here, laughs humourlessly—“I don’t know how to control it.”

“I’m going to get Keith.”

Keith freezes, wonders if maybe Lance’s ice crept into the hallway and around his feet. He barely manages to wrench a foot back.

“No!” Lance shouts, voice filled with conviction. 

Keith pauses.

“He can help you,” Pidge says. “Last night, he was the one that—”

“No,” Lance says again. “Please. Don’t get him. I’ll just…put my hands in some hot water, or something.”

“But—”

“No!” Keith isn’t sure why, but his heart aches at Lance’s tone. “No, Pidge, seriously…I’ll be ok. I just…don’t want to bother him.”

No. No, that’s not it. Keith knows. He can tell. It’s obvious Lance is finally— _finally—_ coming to realise just how dangerous he is, how dangerous being around him is. 

He takes another step back. 

_He’s scared of me._

Another step.

_He should be._

Another.

_I did this to him._

He slams into the wall.

“What was that?” Pidge asks, her voice muffled.

Keith inhales sharply and runs down the stairs, past the reception desk, and bursts outside. He welcomes the crisp night air, lets it clear his mind and lungs, sits down on a nearby bench. 

It would be so easy to leave right now. Bit by bit, step by step, and he could put all of this behind him. The Institute, the cure, Lance—he wants to forget about all of it. 

Did his mother feel this way? Did she sit outside their house, stare into the night, and struggle to make up her mind over whether she should leave?

Keith runs a hand down his face and sighs. He tells himself he’ll leave when five cars drive by, but as the fifth drifts into view, his eyes start to droop. He tells himself he’ll leave when he counts to fifty, but as his lips form ‘forty-nine’ he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Keith wakes up to brown hair and blue eyes.

“Lance,” Keith whispers before he can even stop himself; he’s always weakest in the morning. He bites back a groan as he sits up, joints aching from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position.

“What are you doing out here?” Lance asks. 

Keith looks up at the sky, squinting at the sun. “Looking at the stars.”

Lance frowns in confusion. “By ‘stars’ so you mean ‘star’? As in, the sun?”

“No.”

“…How long have you been out here?”

Keith’s torn between _too long_ and _not long enough._ “A few hours.”

“Shiro’s looking for you. Actually, we’re _all_ looking for you.”

“Well, you found me,” Keith murmurs.

“He thought you’d left.”

Keith pauses. “What?”

Lance’s gaze is far away, caught somewhere between the clouds and the distant mountains. “Shiro thought you left. For a second…I kind of did, too.”

Keith tenses at the words, the heat of anger and the bitterness of defeat swirling in his stomach, rising up until he tastes it on his tongue. “Would it be so bad,” he spits, “if I left?”

Lance stares at him with the kind of look you give someone when you know you’ve disappointed them; wide-eyed, slack-jawed, full of fear.

“Wait!” Lance calls after him as Keith brushes past him. “What—what are—”

Keith ignores him and enters the hotel.

Shiro is still waiting for him in their room.

“Where were you?”

Keith sits on the edge of his bed. “Outside.”

“Why? Couldn’t sleep?”

Keith shrugs, lightly kicking the floor with his foot. “Something like that.”

Shiro huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “You should have at least told me. I was worried. I thought you’d left, or that maybe they found you.”

“I can take care of myself, Shiro. I’m not a kid.”

“I’m not saying that you’re a kid. I’m just saying we need to stay safe. Next time, just wake me up and tell me you’re going outside.”

“Fine,” Keith mutters. 

“Alright,” Shiro sighs. “Let’s get going.”

 

* * *

 

If the car ride yesterday was unbearable, then today it’s completely excruciating. The air is thick and heavy with words unsaid and questions unanswered, but there at least seems to be an understanding between everyone—an understanding of just how easy it’d be to slip up and shift this horrible atmosphere into something even viler—that keeps them all quiet. 

Keith is in the passenger seat, pretending that the view of the cars in the next lane is infinitely more interesting than anything or anyone around him. 

“Almost out of gas,” Shiro muses, the first to break the silence. “Is there a station around here?”

“We just passed one,” Pidge says. 

“Damn,” Shiro sighs. “Where’s the next one?”

“Let me check.”

While Pidge taps away at her phone, Keith turns to Shiro and frowns. “Didn’t you fill the tank yesterday?”

“I did,” Shiro says. “But this car…”

Pidge laughs awkwardly, rubbing her neck. “Oh, yeah. I should’ve warned you. Matt’s car isn’t in the best condition. He was going to fix it, but he never got around to it.”

“Is there a leak or something?” Shiro asks.

“I…don’t really know. He talked about it a lot, but I never listened.” Pidge turns back to her phone. “Turn right up ahead, there’s a station there.”

Shiro smoothly changes lanes, turns right, and drives into the petrol station. He quickly gets out of the car, and Keith watches on with a sharp glare. He has a feeling Shiro just wanted an excuse to leave the car—and subsequently them—for a bit.

An awkward silence settles in the air. Pidge glances at Keith uneasily, then at Lance, and then at Shiro. “I’ll be back,” she says, opening the door and hopping out. She speed walks past Shiro, enters a convenience store.

Keith rests his head on the window, trying his best to ignore Lance’s presence. His eyes drift aimlessly to the side mirror. In its reflection, he sees a hint of Lance’s hands—his ungloved, ice-covered, shaking hands.

The words end up tumbling from his mouth, “Try to keep calm.”

Lance jolts, as if the sound of Keith’s voice physically hurt him. “Huh?”

“Your hands. If you stay calm, there won’t be so much ice. Probably.”

Lance opens his mouth—whether it’s in shock or he’s trying to figure out what to say, Keith doesn’t know—and quickly stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Ok. Thanks.” He stares at his lap for a moment, but Keith can already sense it, can already feel the change in the air.

“Keith?” Lance starts. “Wh—”

“I need to use the bathroom.” Keith opens the door and gets out. He pretends not to see the way Lance’s face falls, pretends not the hear the shift in Lance’s tone as the door cuts him off. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks as he walks by. “Keith?”

“Nothing,” Keith says. “It’s nothing.”

 

* * *

 

The next hotel they stay at is a little better than the previous one. It’s still cheap and old, but the carpet is clean and the walls don’t smell like cigarette smoke and dust. This time there’s actually someone to take their luggage up to their rooms—not that they’d need help since they hardly have anything—and the receptionist wears an easy smile as she hands over their keys.

Keith rooms with Shiro again, opting for the bed near the window. Shiro doesn’t seem to care about which bed he sleeps on, so he doesn’t argue or complain and goes to take a shower. Keith ends up falling asleep, and when he wakes up he sees that the moon is already high in the sky and Shiro’s sleeping soundly in the bed next to his.

Keith’s stomach grumbles and he quickly places a hand over it, as if the action alone will be able to silence it. He walks to the door, footsteps silent on the carpeted floor, and curls his fingers around the doorknob. He opens the door a tiny bit before remembering Shiro’s words from this morning. 

He bites his lip in annoyance, rummaging through Shiro's bag for a pen and paper. He quickly scribbles out a note and leaves it next to Shiro's pillow.

_Gone to get food._

He leaves their room, carefully shutting the door behind him. He decides to venture downstairs, curious to see if the receptionist was lying when she said the hotel cafe runs all day. He starts walking down the hallway when he hears muffled voices coming from one of the rooms—but not just any voices. Familiar voices. Keith slows down, but upon recognising Pidge and Lance, he comes to a stop.

"Lance, stop being stubborn! You can't keep living like this!"

A scoff. "I don't intend to stay like this for long. That's the whole point of this trip, so—” A sudden gasp.

"Lance, listen—”

"No," Lance cuts in, voice laced with pain. He takes a stuttering breath. "I'm fine. I don't need him."

Him? Keith gulps. 

_Me?_

"Keith can help you! I don't think he'll mind."

“No...I'll just take a shower."

"You've already taken three! The hotel probably doesn't even have hot water anymore!"

Lance lets out a growl of frustration. "Pidge, just stop, ok? Let me handle this on my own."

"That's the thing; you don't have to do this alone. Stop being stubborn and let us help."

"No. Listen. Keith...he's been acting weird ever since I...got this power. I think..."

Keith holds his breath, heart thundering against his rib cage. He's caught in a tough position where he doesn't want to hear Lance finish the sentence, but at the same time, he just can't bring himself to walk away. So he stands there in the dark hallway and waits. Waits for the horrible truth to rain down, for the words to dig deep—waits for the pain. 

Lance sighs. "He's been avoiding me. I'm worried it's because seeing someone else go through the whole process of getting the power and not being able to control it...I-I think it's bringing back some bad memories for him."

_What?_

"I don't think that's the case..." Pidge mutters.

"It makes sense, doesn't it? I can't even imagine the horrors he went through..." Lance trails off, words tapering away into a laugh that's painful to listen to. "I guess I'm lucky 'cause I don't remember what they did to me. But Keith...he remembers it, Pidge. All of it."

Keith can't believe what he's hearing. Lance isn't afraid? Doesn't hate him? Even though he has every right to and _should,_ he doesn't? 

"Ok," Pidge says softly. "You go take a shower. I'm gonna find some more towels."

"Thanks."

Pidge's footsteps register a bit too late. She opens the door and almost crashes into Keith. He realises, then, that he's screwed.

First, her eyes widen in surprise. Then they start to flicker with something Keith knows isn't from the poor lights in the hallway.

"Come with me," she says. It almost seems like he has an option to refuse, but the tight grip on his sleeve says otherwise. Keith dumbly walks behind her, lets her lead him to the end of the hallway and then round a corner into a more secluded area. 

"Ok," she says, roughly shoving his arm aside. She leans against the wall and crosses her arms. "What's going on with you two?"

“What are you talking about?”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I know you heard our conversation,” she nods back down the hallway, in the direction of her shared room with Lance. “What’s going on? Tell me why you’re avoiding him.”

Keith narrows his eyes, matching her harsh glare. “Nothing. It’s just better this way.”

“Better?” Pidge says the word like it’s poison. It falls on Keith’s ears like poison, too. “Are you serious? It’s not better, you’re making things worse.”

“Trust me,” Keith says bitterly. “It’s better for Lance if I’m not around him.”

“Lance is going through something really hard right now. All you’re doing is abandoning him and making it worse.”

Keith feels the anger whirl inside, but somehow it feels weird. It feels wrong, dampened and subdued by something else. Something like shame. Guilt. “I’m not abandoning him.”

“You are! He needs your help, but you’re not helping him!”

“He’s better off without my help.”

“So what?” Pidge squares her shoulders and meets his gaze head-on. “You think that if you stay away from Lance, everything will just magically get better?”

“No. That’s not it. When I’m close to him, he ends up getting hurt. If I stay away, that won’t happen.”

“When Lance was kidnapped…” Pidge starts, teetering on the edge of calmness and hysteria. Keith wonders which side she’ll end up on. “You accepted the blame and promised you’d save him. You promised you’d fix things. Are you going to break that promise?”

“What are you saying?” Keith argues. “I saved him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you didn’t fix things. Things won’t be fixed until Lance is back to normal.”

“Do you _want_ him to get hurt again? Because that’s what will happen if I don’t stay away.”

“God, you’re so—Look. Do you want to know what your problem is?” Pidge takes a moment to collect herself. “You’re running away. That’s what you’re doing.”

Keith falters. “What—”

“You’re running away, and you’re telling yourself it’s for Lance’s benefit. _Oh, if I stay away, he won’t get hurt._ But that’s not true. It’s not the _real_ reason you’re running.”

“Then tell me,” Keith snarls. “Why am I running?”

“You’re afraid of getting hurt. That’s why. You’re afraid Lance will fear you, and shun you, and hate you, so you tell yourself he already does and then you run, because that way it hurts less.”

The breath leaves his lungs. “That…that’s not…”

“Oh? It’s not true?” Pidge frowns. “Don’t deny it.”

Lance had always broken straight through his walls, hitting the cracks and fissures until they weakened and he easily burst through. Pidge is different. She doesn’t break any walls. No, she tears down his foundation, shakes it until he can barely keep everything together.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits weakly.

Pidge’s eyes soften, and she gently touches his arm. “Lance doesn’t hate you. Hell, not even _I_ hate you. And do you want to know why?” Her grip tightens. “It’s because you’re a good person.”

“I’m not,” Keith protests. He is many things—a loner, a coward, a _monster_ —but he’s not good.

“You are,” Pidge insists. 

“Good people don’t hurt others.”

Pidge inhales slowly. “Am I a good person?”

“Yes.”

She punches him in the arm.

Keith frowns, absently touching the spot she hit. “What was that for?”

“I’m a good person and I just hurt you.” She smirks wickedly. “Doesn’t make me a bad person, does it?”

“I’m not so sure anymore,” Keith grumbles.

“See?” Pidge chuckles. “Your logic is flawed. You are good. You’re good because a bad person wouldn’t care if they hurt someone. You’re good because you’re literally fighting against this huge, evil organisation. A bad person wouldn’t do that.”

“But this is all my fault. I dragged you and Lance into this mess.”

Pidge sighs. “You didn’t drag us into anything. Lance willingly helped you. So did I. You didn’t force us.” She pushes him a little, guiding him toward Lance’s room. “Go talk to him. Go and help him. It’ll mean a lot to Lance, because—and I really hate to admit this, because _I’m_ his best friend—you mean a lot to him, too.”

“You think?”

Pidge scoffs. “When it comes to Lance, I don’t think. I just know.”

Keith allows himself to smile. “Ok. Then I’ll take your word for it.”

They stop in front of Lance’s room, and Keith feels his heart start to thud a bit faster. 

“It’ll be ok,” Pidge assures, patting his back. “You trust me, right?”

Keith thinks back to when he first met her and she helped him find Shiro. He thinks back to infiltrating the Institute, having her voice guide him through the dark halls. He thinks of how, even after all that’s happened, she still seems to care.

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Great,” she says, smiling. She leans around him and knocks on Lance’s door, giving him one final nudge before backing away.

Keith’s mind starts to spin, and for a second he’s tempted to turn around, run down the hall and out of the hotel. But he doesn’t. He clenches his hands and keeps his legs still, determined to face Lance and sort this out. 

All too soon, the door flies open. “Pidge?” Lance calls in anticipation. He looks up and meets Keith’s eyes.

For the first time in his life, Keith stops running. 

“Keith?” Lance asks. He looks back in his room for a moment before facing Keith again. “What is it?”

Keith takes a step forward, and Lance quickly takes one back. They continue like this, moving in slow strides, a hesitant, awkward dance until they’re both inside the dim room. Keith shuts the door behind him. Lance winces as it slams a bit too loudly.

“Let me see your hands,” Keith says.

Lance tenses, hides his hands behind his back. His hair is damp, and he smells strongly of shampoo. He used to radiate warmth after showers, but now Keith can only feel a sharp chill. 

“Lance,” Keith whispers, trying his best to sound more stern than desperate. “Please.”

Slowly, Lance places his hands out in front of him. The sight etches a frown on Keith’s face. Lance’s hands tremble gently, the ice spreading out from his fingertips. The longer Keith stares, the more he notices, and the more the ice spreads. There are patches of skin that are red, as if Lance got frustrated and started peeling the ice away, only to peel some skin off as well. 

“Keith—” Lance’s breath hitches. The ice starts moving to his wrist and up his arm, but before it goes any further, Keith takes his hands in his own. 

He shouldn’t be surprised by how cold Lance’s hands are, but he can’t help it. He’s used to Lance being warm—used to his _hands_ being warm—and the sudden change is so jarring, Keith can’t help but gasp. 

Lance squirms in his hold, Keith opens his mouth to talk but…what can he say? What is there to say? _I’m sorry?_ The words feel wrong. Keith could say ‘sorry’ a million times, say it until his mouth gets dry and his tongue goes numb, say it for the rest of his life, but it’d still be wrong because it just _isn’t enough._ It doesn’t express how bad he feels, or how guilty he feels, or how conflicted he feels. Is it selfish that deep down, part of him is glad to have met Lance, even though their meeting has caused Lance nothing but misfortune? 

It is. And for that—and so,  _so_ much more—he is sorry.

He doesn’t say the words. Instead, he lets the fire come to life in his hands until they glow orange, and he simply melts all the ice away. 

“Keith…” Lance whispers. His stare burns intensely, but Keith doesn’t— _can’t_ —meet it. “You don’t have to do this. If it’s too hard for you—”

“It’s not,” Keith says with conviction. He grips Lance a bit tighter, and finally tilts his head up a little. “I want to do this.”

He looks into Lance’s eyes and hopes with his entire being that his gaze will convey the rest of his message—his apologies and guilt and conflict, all condensed down into a single blink, a single breath, a single stare.

Lance smiles gently and Keith feels like he can breathe again.

He gets it. Lance gets it.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Keith sits in the back of the car with Lance. Shiro gives him an odd look, but in the end, he smiles, as if he anticipated that they’d make up eventually. Pidge goes as far as to smirk, wiggling her eyebrows in Keith’s direction as she hops in the passenger seat. Keith looks down in embarrassment and crosses his arms. 

The car ride is nothing like the previous ones. Despite everyone’s silence, there’s no stagnant air, no awkwardness, no discomfort. Well…actually, there might be just a _little_ discomfort.

Since Pidge is in the front seat, she made herself in charge of the radio. The problem is, the knob for the AC and, subsequently, the heating, is right next to the buttons for the radio. And since Pidge is still clearly worried about Lance, she thought it’d be good to set the heating up as high as possible so that he wouldn’t get too cold.

When it comes to temperature, Keith is never particularly uncomfortable. He favours the cold, because his fire is a lot easier to tame in colder weather, and he can always use it to warm himself up. Heat doesn’t bother him much either; he’s gotten used to it at this point. But the flames are harder to control when it’s hot, and the sheer annoyance of feeling them buzz beneath his skin drives him crazy.

Even so, Pidge and Shiro definitely have a harder time up front. They’ve both shed their jackets, now only in shirts. They’re both sweating and Shiro—on more than one occasion—sneakily tries to crack his window open, only for Pidge to stop him with a sharp glare.

But the worrying thing is Lance. He isn’t sweating at all, and he’s _still_ bundled up in a hoodie, jacket, and gloves.

“Are you cold?” Keith asks when Shiro and Pidge both are distracted by a song on the radio. 

“Huh? Oh…” Lance smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. A little.”

If he knew just how high Pidge had turned the heating, he’d never have admitted it.

Keith frowns, shedding his own jacket and splaying it over Lance’s lap. “Here.”

Lance gapes for a moment. “Aren’t you going to be cold too? Oh. No, wait…” he laughs lightly. “Never mind. Forgot who I was dealing with.”

Keith smiles, rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. He feels sharp eyes trained on him, and when he looks up at the rear-view mirror, he’s met with Pidge’s commanding gaze. Keith furrows his brows in question, and she silently raises both hands and intertwines her fingers. A few seconds tick by as Keith waits for the comprehension to hit, and when it does, he wishes his seat would just swallow him up.

Pidge mouths something— _do it—_ and Keith knows if he doesn’t he’ll never hear the end of it.

“Lance,” he stutters. Then he gulps, Pidge continues to stare, and he clears his throat. 

“Yeah?” Lance asks.

Keith curses softly—in his head or under his breath; he isn’t sure which one—and gestures to Lance’s gloved hand. “Uh…take off your glove.”

Lance seems a bit suspicious, but he complies anyway. “Why? You want to see it, or something?”

Keith quickly takes his hand, lets his warmth pass to Lance.

Pidge smiles and nods her head once, and Keith hopes his glare will somehow manifest into a laser, sear through her seat and sting the back of her head.

“Better?” Keith asks quietly, staring at the floor.

“Yeah,” Lance whispers. He curls his fingers a bit tighter around Keith’s, searching for warmth. “It is.”

 

* * *

 

Neither Pidge nor Shiro bat an eye when Keith and Lance decide to share a room that night.

“It’s good for the two of you to share a room,” Shiro says, voice akin to that of a school teacher. “Keith can help you out,” he says to Lance.

“I agree,” Pidge murmurs, pushing her glasses up her nose. 

Keith glares at them both, but neither seem to care, and even Lance doesn’t look bothered by their comments, so he keeps quiet and follows Lance up to their room. 

“Which bed do you want?” Lance asks as they enter.

“Either. I don’t really care.”

The room is so small that their two beds almost touch. Lance takes the one on the left, closest to the bathroom, which leaves the one on the right for Keith.

“Still cold?” Keith asks.

“A little,” Lance admits. “But I’ll be ok after I shower.”

A few minutes later he goes into the bathroom with an armful of clothes and a towel slung over his shoulder. Keith stares vacantly out the window, wonders what the weather will be like tomorrow. He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t realise Lance is done until he throws himself on his bed.

“If you were expecting the bathroom to be more spacious, you will be disappointed.”

Keith startles a little and turns to Lance. “Huh?”

“I mean, cheap hotels are never gonna be great, but this room can barely fit one person, let alone two. It’s kind of ridiculous.”

“How do you feel now?” Keith asks, ignoring his random comments.

Lance gives him a weird look. “Fine. I told you I’d be better after I shower.”

“Ok…” Keith says slowly. He pushes away from the window and grabs some clothes from his bag. “I’m going to shower too.”

When he enters the bathroom, he isn’t surprised to see that it’s just as small as Lance depicted it. He quickly undresses and then starts to adjust the water. He wonders if Lance even used the knob for cold water, or if he strictly stuck to using the warm. 

After a few minutes, Keith steps out of the shower, watching the steam swirl around him. He waves his hand around to dispel it and then takes a towel. He dries himself quickly and starts getting dressed, but he frowns when he grabs what he thinks is his shirt, only to realise it’s another pair of loose shorts. Keith sighs, runs a hand through his damp hair, balls the shorts up in his hand and carefully opens the door.

The dull light from the bathroom illuminates the floorboards beneath Keith’s feet. He turns the light off, plunging himself into darkness, and walks toward his bed. Lance lays on his own bed, curled on his side, peacefully asleep. Keith crouches in the tight space that separates his bed from Lance’s, rummaging through his bag to find a shirt. He tugs it, frowns when it resists, and then tugs harder. He’s just about to pull a shirt free when he feels a cold, light touch on his back, tracing a path that starts at his left shoulder blade and traverses down, down and close to his spine. 

His breath catches when he feels the touch again, feels the chill of fingertips on his heated skin.

“Lance?” He whispers. 

“You still haven’t told me,” Lance muses, “how you got these scars.” He presses down a bit firmer, but his touch still feels the same—still as soft as a feather, as cold as ice.

Keith starts to shiver. “I thought you were sleeping.”

Lance pulls away, retracts his touch, and the sudden absence makes Keith’s heart ache in a way he doesn’t really understand. “Don’t change the topic. Tell me how you got them. Did it happen when you first got your power? Because you couldn’t control it?” 

Keith forgets about his shirt and moves to sit on the edge of Lance’s bed. He can feel Lance’s presence behind him, but he doesn’t turn to face him. Instead, he focuses his gaze on the space between the window and the floor, the awkward portion of wall that is half in shadow and half illuminated by the moonlight. 

“No,” he says. “Those scars are from Sendak. Not my power.”

“Sendak?” Lance says the name like it’s a curse, full of vehemence. “The guy you fought when you saved me?”

Keith nods. “He was kind of...like a teacher. Or a trainer. He taught me to fight.”

“So he did this?” Lance asks. His voice is gentle, and when he touches Keith’s back his hands are just as gentle, as if he’s scared talking too loudly or touching too firmly will cause the scars to break and splinter beneath his fingers. 

“Yeah. He...wanted me to learn how to use weapons. Like knives. And sometimes, when I still didn’t get what he was trying to teach...” Keith shrugs. “He’d demonstrate.”

Lance doesn’t say anything. Instead, he places his hand firmly on the centre of Keith’s back, fingers splayed and palm pressed flat against scarred skin. Keith’s breath hitches, but Lance keeps his hand steady. He knows what the touch is trying to convey.

_You’re strong,_ it says. _These scars can’t break you,_ it says, and Keith’s mouth twitches despite himself. 

“How’d you learn to control it?” Lance asks.

Keith leans back a bit, and Lance—thankfully—doesn’t move his hand away. “It took a long time to control it. Alfor was the one that helped me. He said I needed to control my emotions, and then the power would fall into place. Like what I told you yesterday.”

“Emotions?” Lance asks, voice light, full of mirth. Keith can practically _feel_ Lance’s smirk in the air. “You don’t seem that in control, Mr. hothead.”

Keith scowls. “You should’ve seen me back then. I was a lot worse than I am now.”

He can hear Lance shift, blankets rustling. When he talks, his voice sounds a bit louder, so Keith knows he’s moved in closer. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Keith stares down at his open palms. “I was a lot worse at controlling it than you.”

“No way,” Lance scoffs. “The only reason your back isn’t frozen solid is because you’re always unnaturally warm.”

Keith smiles ruefully. _No_ , he thinks. _Not as warm as you used to be._

“No one could touch me,” Keith argues, “without getting burned. When they’d get too close to me, I’d start to shout at them, and then the fire would just...come to life, all on its own. All over my arms.”

“Wow,” Lance says softly. “That would’ve been a sight to see.” He starts drawing patterns on Keith’s back, but Keith can feel his touch get colder, so he sends some more heat to his back, makes sure the ice doesn’t appear before Lance sees it and starts to feel bad.

He thinks back to his days in the Institute, a young boy with too much power. He’d wake up some days to find his blankets and pillows scorched, edges blackened by flames he conjured accidentally in his sleep. The slightest change of mood would push the power over the edge, and fire would erupt all around him, regardless of whether he’d want it to or not.

“It was so hard to get used to it,” Keith says. He flexes his arm, watches the way his muscles tense, as if he can see the fire flow in his veins. “I can’t remember what it feels like to be normal...to not have the power inside.”

“What does your power feel like?”

Keith takes a breath, lets it out slowly. “It feels like an itch. But it’s beneath my skin. The only way to get it to go away is if I use my power.” He turns his head to the side, looks over at Lance. “It is like that for you?”

Lance blinks, eyelashes fluttering with the movement. He chuckles to himself. “No. I don’t feel an itch. I...” he frowns. “I don’t really feel anything.”

Keith mirrors his frown. “Well...I guess it’s different for everyone.”

“Yeah. That must be it.” 

A silence settles between them, but it isn’t overbearing or stifling. It’s peaceful. It’s calming. 

“Hey,” Lance whispers, twisting around so he’s lying on his side. “Show me.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Show you what?”

“The way you used to lose control of your power. Show me what it’d look like.”

For a moment, Keith just stares at him, trying to comprehend his request. “Oh,” he murmurs after a while. “You mean this?” He summons two small flames—one on each palm—and then slowly lets the fire spiral up his arms, until they lick at his shoulders. The flames flicker, rise and fall with the swell of his breath, casting shadows on Lance’s face.

“Wow.” Lance’s eyes widen in awe. He raises a hand, as if to touch the flames, but Keith quickly moves his arm away.

“Don’t,” Keith warns quietly. “You’ll get hurt.”

A low chuckle, followed by eyes that glint with something sharp, something like defiance. Before Keith can move away again, Lance’s hand lands on his arm. The flames that surround Lance’s palm and fingers hiss as they go out. Slowly, something cool starts taking their place, and it continues to spread all along Keith’s arm until all that’s left of the flames is smoke. 

“It’s ok,” Lance whispers. “You can’t hurt me.”

Keith makes a sound that’s something like a sigh and a huff. “Yeah,” he whispers back. He places his free hand over Lance’s, watches as it starts glowing orange, watches as the ice melts away.

“You can’t hurt me, either.”

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Lance’s smile.

 

* * *

 

“We’re eating dinner here?” Pidge asks, leaning close to the window to see inside the cafe. The air outside is cold, and the glass fogs up when she sighs.

“You guys don’t mind, right?” Shiro adjusts the sleeves of his jacket. “It’s the closest place I could find.”

“I’m happy as long as they have food,” Keith murmurs.

Lance nods eagerly. “I second that.”

“Alright.” Shiro opens the door and gestures inside. “Let’s go in.”

The cafe is small and cozy, a combination Lance seems to appreciate as he looks around in glee. The lighting is a dim yellow, and fairy lights hang on the walls, bathing the tables and floor in a soft glow. 

Shiro and Pidge get settled at one of the booths, sitting opposite one another. Lance slides next to Pidge, leaving Keith to sit next to Shiro.

“What should I get…” Pidge muses, sliding a finger down the laminated menu. “Oh!” she cries. “They have sundaes! Lance, let’s share one.”

“Sorry, Pidge,” Lance says with a guilty smile. “I don’t feel like eating anything cold.”

Pidge blinks. “But you—” Keith shoots her a weak half-glare, and she immediately pales, realising her mistake. “Ah. Now that I think about it, it’s too cold for a sundae anyway. Yeah. I’ll get some cake instead. Or a muffin.”

“Lance, what will you order?” Shiro cuts in, and both Pidge and Keith sink a bit further into their seats, relieved at the change in topic.

“Probably just a sandwich.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get the same,” Keith adds.

“Hello!” A chipper voice interrupts. A waitress appears by the table, clutching a pen and notepad to her chest. “Are you guys ready to order?”

“Sorry,” Shiro says with a smile. “We’re still thinking.”

“That’s ok!” the waitress says. Her blue eyes gleam under the dim lights. “Please, just take your time. I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

Keith absently looks back down at the menu but notices something weird out of the corner of his eye. Lance’s face is horribly blank, and he’s staring intently at the waitress as she walks away. Keith frowns, following Lance’s line of sight, but he doesn’t see anything weird about the girl. 

“Hey,” he says, but Lance continues to stare at the waitress. She laughs at something a coworker says, and Lance actually _winces._ Keith nudges him with his foot. 

“Oh.” Lance quickly turns back to him. “Keith. What’s up?”

Keith narrows his eyes. “You ok?”

Lance laughs lightly. “I’m perfect, my man. Why do you ask?”

Keith’s eyes glance over to the waitress as she adjusts her long brown hair, tying it up in a neat bun. “Never mind.”

“I think I’m set,” Pidge announces. “I’m getting a mini pizza, a cheese sandwich, and a muffin. Or three.” She shrugs, grin lopsided. “We’ll see.”

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Shiro says.

Pidge calmly and neatly folds her hands together. “I’ve spent the past few days eating cheap hotel food and even cheaper snacks from convenience stores. This place finally has some _proper_ food. I’m not going to waste this opportunity. I mean, who knows how much longer we’ll be on the road?”

“Actually…” Shiro drums his fingers on the table, a smile creeping on his face. “If everything goes to plan, this time tomorrow we’ll be with Allura.”

Keith turns to him. “Really? Already?”

“What do you mean ‘already’?” Pidge bellows. “It’s more like _finally_. I don’t think I’d be able to stand another day in Matt’s car.”

“Ok, guys, ready to order now?”

The waitress appears in a flash, her grin shining prettily against her tan skin. She casts her eyes over to Shiro and quirks an eyebrow.

Shiro lists off everyone’s orders and the waitress nods along, scribbling everything down. When Shiro is done, she announces the food will be out shortly and goes off to get their drinks.

Keith is distracted by the cars driving past the window, so he doesn’t notice anything wrong with Lance until he hears Pidge ask him if he’s ok.

“Y-yeah,” Lance stutters. He rubs the back of his neck and gulps. 

“Who ordered the green tea?” A different waitress shows up, holding Lance’s cup of tea. 

When Lance doesn’t answer, she repeats the question, and even then Pidge is the one that takes the cup and places it in front of Lance.

Keith knows what it looks like to lose control of your power. He’s seen it countless times at the Institute, so he knows the signs, knows the cause and how to stop it. To lose control is to suffer; it feels like your power is eating away at you, shunning you and trying to be rid of you because the power is strong but you are weak, and it does not want you as a vessel. 

“It doesn’t control you,” Sendak’s voice had boomed in Keith’s ear as he lay on the floor of the training room, crying, his arms—literally—burning. “ _You_ control _it._ ”

The power is a beast, and you have to rear it in before it either goes mad or drives you mad. 

At the Institute, Keith had witnessed so many people get dragged away by guards whenever their training sessions went wrong, kicking and screaming as their power went haywire. A boy with flames just like his fell to the ground, clutching his head, crying in agony as his entire body was engulfed by red and yellow and white. A girl watched in shock as her feet started to turn into stone. Another girl shouted so loud a gust of wind knocked everyone in her vicinity to the ground.

Keith is scared it’ll happen to Lance. He knows that it’s inevitable, that it’ll happen at least once, but he’d hoped that maybe Lance would be an exception, that maybe he’d be an anomaly in that aspect.

Right now, he realises he is wrong. Lance is already exhibiting all the signs—his hands (ungloved, since he said it was annoying to eat with gloves on) start to tremble. A thin sheet of ice covers them, but when he curls his fingers around his cup of tea, it doesn’t melt away. Instead it starts to spread along the sides of the ceramic. The once steaming tea is now turning into a block of ice. 

The cup is halfway to Lance’s lips when he notices. His eyes widen and he harshly jerks back, the cup dropping from his fingers and landing on the table. The cup rolls to the edge, and Keith leans out, catching it just before it hits the ground. 

Lance curses lowly, reaches past Pidge, and grabs a handful of napkins. He begins to wipe down the table, but as he glides the napkin across the surface a trail of ice follows his hand. He furiously starts wiping at the ice, but his efforts only make things worse. His motions grow erratic and Pidge is forced to put a hand on his shoulder; a signal to stop. 

The first waitress rushes over. Before she can notice the ice, Keith swipes his hand over it and it easily melts away.

“Are you alright?” she asks, looking over at Lance in concern. She uses a cloth to soak up the tea, then another one to dry the table. 

Lance does not answer her. It’s Shiro, yet again, who has to do it for him.

“Here,” she says, taking Lance’s empty teacup. “I’ll get you a refill.”

No one even notices her departure—Lance’s sudden state of panic has them all worried. Keith bites his lip as his scours his mind for anything that could help Lance, but panic proves to be contagious because his mind is too frazzled to think straight.

The ice on Lance’s fingers has spread up past his wrists. His jacket obscures the rest of his arm from view but judging from the sheen of fear in Lance’s eyes—the type of fear that borders on _denial_ —it might have already climbed past his elbows.

“Lance,” Shiro starts, leaning forward. “Lance, take a breath. Calm down.”

And Lance does take a breath. The only problem is that he doesn’t let it out. His chest heaves frantically as he starts to hyperventilate. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, a command ready on his lips, but Keith is already up on his feet and guiding Lance outside.

Once they’re out of the cafe, Lance breaks away from Keith’s hold, stumbling blindly before slumping against the wall. He continues to pant, clutching his shirt tightly, and for a second Keith fears that the ice has spread to his lungs.

“Hey,” Keith tries to keep the panic out of his voice, wills his tone to stay as calm and low as possible, but he ends up sounding high-strung and erratic. He catches Lance by the shoulders as he sags to the floor, and Keith follows suit, sinking down to his knees. 

The crisp, fresh air outside seems to be doing nothing to help Lance’s condition. He continues to hyperventilate, continues to clutch his chest, continues to shake like a leaf caught in a harsh blizzard. But then the ice appears around his collar, up his neck, and _god,_ Keith’s own lungs start to malfunction at the sight.

_“Shit,”_ he curses. “Listen to me,” he starts. “Lance, don’t hold it back.”

With blue lips, frosted cheeks, and chattering teeth, Lance manages to rasp, “What do you mean?”

“Your power,” Keith explains, as calmly and slowly as he can. “You’re trying to resist it. Sometimes that can work, but sometimes it makes things worse. Right now, it isn’t working. So don’t hold it back. Don’t hide it from me.”

At this, Lance trembles, a full-body tremor that starts with confusion and ends with wide, glossy eyes. “B-but—” he speaks in parts, words ragged as he forces them out in between his frantic breaths. “If I d-don’t hold back, it—”

“It won’t,” Keith says firmly. He takes Lance’s curled, bunched up, frozen hands into his and places them on Lance’s cheeks. He leans in close—so close that he can see their misty breaths mingle in the frigid air. “You trust me, right?”

Without hesitation, Lance’s head bobs in a single nod. His eyes are screwed shut, body shaking violently as he continues to fight against his power. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, crystallising before they even hit his cheek. Keith still wipes them away.

“I—don’t feel a-an itch,” Lance grits out through clenched teeth. “I feel pain. It hurts.”

Keith’s heart twists. “I know,” he whispers. “But it’ll pass. Just focus on calming down. Breathe with me.”

Keith takes in a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and exhales. Lance tries to follow along, joining in at random intervals, as if they’re singing their own duet and he’s trying to find his place in the melody. But he’s still trembling, so he ends up losing rhythm, falling behind Keith’s steady pace. He tries again, and again, and again, until his chest falls up and down in time with Keith’s own in perfect harmony. For each one of Lance’s cold breaths, Keith exchanges it with his warm one. He channels as much heat as he can—not just in his hands, but in his whole body, hoping it’ll radiate off him and seep into Lance, melt away all of his cold.

It takes time for Lance to finally calm down. As he finally stops shaking and the ice finally disappears, the door to the cafe chimes as it opens, and a concerned Pidge rushes out. 

Keith shifts back a little, and Pidge takes it as an opportunity to wedge herself by Lance’s side.

“It’s ok,” she whispers, and Lance sniffs, burying his face in her fluffy scarf as she wraps her arms around him.

Dazed, Keith can only blink as he watches the exchange. He manages to stand up, but his heart is still hammering, his legs are still shaking, and he thinks there’s a good chance he’ll end up falling over.

A steady hand clasps his shoulder, and Keith looks up to see Shiro’s concerned frown.

“Is everything alright?” Shiro asks. He casts an anxious look toward Pidge and Lance, huddled close, bracing against the sudden harsh wind.

Keith swallows, pretends to adjust the collar of his jacket. “Yeah. I think he’s ok now.” Still feeling a bit dazed, he blinks slowly at Shiro. “Do you know what happened? Why did he lose control like that? What caused it?”

Shiro sighs and runs a gloved hand through his hair, his thin, wiry fake glasses jostling with the movement. “Pidge told me that one of the waitresses looked a lot like his older sister. She thinks he might be missing his family, or worried about not having contacted them, so…”

“Oh.” Keith puts his hands in his pockets, idly kicks the ground. “I…didn’t realise.”

“I didn't either. It’s too risky to contact them now. We can try when we get to Allura’s.”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers.

“He’ll be fine,” Shiro assures. 

Keith just nods, staring blankly down at the ground.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhHHH the most frustrating thing happened as I was writing this chapter. Evernote decided not to sync properly, and I lost some of the scenes I wrote :') I managed to fix it in the end,,,but god it was so scary :') I've learnt my lesson now,,,I'll never trust Evernote again :')
> 
> anyway, the next chap will be exciting coz FINALLY allura, coran, and hunk will make their debut, so pls stay tuned for that!! 
> 
> thanks so much for reading, and thanks to everyone who has left me kudos or a comment <3 I really appreciate it


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you sure you didn't take a wrong turn?"

Shiro squints down at the address scrawled across the yellow post-it note in his hand, the ink smudged and blurred from sweaty palms and spilt drinks. On this journey, they've all held the note at least once; passed it over steaming cups of coffee, slid it over sticky, dirty diner tables, ran fingers over the smooth lines that spell out letters and numbers. They've all memorised the address scrawled on that note. It’s been imprinted into their minds as deep as the ink that seeped into the paper when pen first made contact with it. So Keith knows, despite Pidge's doubt, that Shiro did not take a wrong turn. There is no way this is the wrong address.

“Yes," Shiro says, affirming Keith's thoughts. “I’m sure."

“Alright,” Pidge says slowly. "This is where Allura lives. _This_ is where she lives." 

Keith gapes at the large metal gate that looms over him. Looking past the iron bars, he sees a driveway that is large enough to fit two trucks side by side, a lush garden filled with colourful flowers, and a fountain with a statue of a boy (or, as Lance insisted, an angel) elegantly perched on top. The white stairs leading up to the entrance are polished to perfection, and a large house sits in the middle of it all, intimidating yet captivating all the same. 

"I bet this place has ten rooms," Lance says. His stands on his tiptoes, bringing his cupped hands up to shield his eyes from the sun's harsh light.

"What are you trying to do?" Pidge scoffs. "You won't be able to see inside the windows from here. Besides, there aren't ten rooms. I bet there's only five or six, but they’re _huge_." 

"Guys, break it up.” Shiro raises both hands and steps between Lance and Pidge, barring their paths. “Let’s not get distracted."

"Yeah, Pidge," Lance says sourly. 

“Whatever," Pidge grumbles, rolling her eyes.

Shiro walks over to the gates and presses the button on the intercom. A dull buzz sounds, followed by fuzzy static, before finally clearing away to a low hum.

"Yes? Hello? How may I help you?" A voice asks through the intercom. The voice is distinctly male, but Keith can't place the accent.

“Hello," Shiro says smoothly. "My name is Shiro, and I've come here with my friends. We're here to see Allura."

“Allura?" the man asks. His voice almost trills at the last syllable. "Are you her friends?"

“I was friends with her father. Alfor sent us here. We have something important to discuss with her."

"Wait a minute…what was your name again?"

Shiro pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s Shiro."

“Goodness," the man whispers. "Oh my—Please wait right there! I'll open this gate up in a jiffy!"

The intercom abruptly cuts off, and Shiro breathes a sigh of relief. “He seems…"

“Nice?” Pidge supplies.

Shiro smiles tiredly. “Enthusiastic.” 

The gate screeches as it starts to move, rolling steadily to the side. Pidge and Shiro don’t hesitate to step forward, sights set on the large house up ahead. 

Lance rubs his hands together and turns to Keith in excitement. "This is it, buddy. We've finally made it. It'll be so great to be normal agai—Hey. What’s wrong?"

The past few days have been so hectic that Keith hadn't been able to think about it, but now the problem is right in front of him, baring its teeth with a vicious scowl.

How can he ask Allura for the cure when he was the one that caused her father to die? Will she refuse to help him? Will she refuse to help Lance? Will Keith need to get down on his knees and bow until his forehead touches her expensive marble floors, and beg until she at least agrees to help Lance? Will—

"Hey. Keith. What are we doing?"

Keith's pulled back to reality and his mind grasps at empty space as it tries to catch up to the horrible thoughts that plague him. He doesn't let it; instead, he focuses on Lance's voice, lets it cascade over him and wash all the bad away.

“We’re going to meet Allura."

Lance makes a buzzer-like sound and sticks his hand out in a thumbs-down gesture. “Nope. Try again.” 

Keith's holding on to his composure with sweaty, shaky hands, but he can already feel its edges start to fray, the strands spreading out, thinning, weakening.

He shakes his head. "What are you saying?"

“Don’t you remember?" Lance steps into his space, his hand coming up to rest on Keith's shoulder. "I gave you some advice, didn’t I?"

"Advice? What ad—Oh."

"What are we doing?" Lance asks again.

Keith swallows lead and bile and the bitter dredges of fear. “We’re uh—we’re standing here."

“Right.” Lance's eyes crinkle at the edge's when he smiles. It's a smile, Keith thinks, that could rival the sun. "One step at a time. Focus only on the present."

Lance easily slings an arm around his shoulders; the gesture is so comforting and natural it feels as if he's been doing it for years and years. "How about now?” He asks as he steps forward. 

“Walking,” Keith answers. His feet land on the cool asphalt, his boots crushing leaves under their soles. 

"Yep. Just walking."

From up ahead, Pidge and Shiro wait at the base of the stairs, under the arch of the entryway. If they're annoyed by his and Lance's slow amble, they don't say anything.

As soon as Keith—with Lance's arm still around his shoulders—places his foot on the first step, the large wooden double doors open with a slow creak, and a tall, orange-haired man runs out to greet them.

Keith's eyes widen a little and he staggers back. Lance pushes him forward, and when Keith shoots him a wide-eyed look of panic, all he does is smile and raise an eyebrow.

"Please, come in!" The man says, ushering them inside. Pidge almost trips as her foot snags the doorframe, but Shiro is quick to grab her arm and steady her.

Keith steps into the large house with trepidation. He's torn between worrying about trekking dirt into the pristine foyer and freaking out over meeting Allura and all the problems associated with that. But Lance still has a firm grip around his shoulders, and the longer he keeps his arm there, the more Keith starts to think Lance is doing it to keep him from running away than to offer comfort.

"Um..." Shiro is the one to start, quickly clearing his throat. "It's nice to meet you...?"

"Coran," the man says, eagerly shaking Shiro's offered hand. "You must be Shiro, yes? Allura and I have been waiting for a while, hoping you would come here."

Shiro smiles sadly. “I’m sorry about that. Keith had planned to come here a lot sooner, but a lot of stuff happened and his trip got delayed for a while.”

Coran waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about it. All that matters is that you’re here now!”

“I tried to call a few times,” Shiro starts, “but I was never able to get through.”

“Ah. That’d be my fault. After Alfor passed away, I changed all our phone numbers. As a safety precaution.”

Shiro hums lowly. “But Alfor told you that you might be expecting us, right?” 

"Of course! Alfor and I were good friends. Although he did it sparingly, he still kept in contact with us. He told me all about you and Keith and your escape plan." Coran pulls back, takes a few seconds to appraise their faces. "Ah!" he says, pointing at Lance. "You must be Keith!"

Lance chuckles lightly. "Well, if Alfor described Keith as stunning and handsome, then yes, that's me."

"Don't listen to him," Pidge says. "His name is Lance. The one cowering in his arms in Keith."

Keith's head snaps over to Pidge. He can feel his face heat up. "I'm _not_ cowering—” 

"I wouldn't say he's ‘cowering,’ per se," Lance interrupts, pursing his lips in thought. “But—Ow! Keith, did you just elbow me?"

"It was an accident," Keith says sourly. He takes a step forward, and Lance has enough logic to know that trying to stop him would be a bad idea. He braces himself, turning to face Coran. "I'm Keith." 

Coran clasps his hand in both of his. "It's so nice to meet you, my boy! I know you've been through a lot, but you don’t have to worry anymore." He smiles gently, and for the briefest moment, Keith feels like he's with Alfor again. "You're safe here with us."

"Yeah," Keith says lamely. He clears his throat. "Thank you."

Coran greets both Lance and Pidge in turn, shaking their hands warmly and asking if they've also come from the Institute. Just as Shiro is about to explain everything that's happened, Keith hears footsteps.

"Coran?" A young woman says, her voice rolling like wind over ocean waves. She descends the stairs with such elegance and grace they're all—except for Coran—momentarily shellshocked. Keith sees the resemblance from a mile away. The same white hair, same skin tone, same accent—hell, she's even wearing a white lab coat. There's no doubt in his mind—this is Alfor's daughter. "Who are our guests? Are these your friends?"

"Even better," Coran says. He stands up a bit straighter, moustache twitching as he smiles. "They were sent here by your father."

Allura pauses for a moment, and Keith winces internally. God, this is such a bad idea. There's no way she's going to want to help him. There's _no way—_  

"Shiro and Keith?" Allura asks. 

Shiro holds his hand out. “I’m Shiro. It’s nice to meet you.”

Allura regards him for a moment before smiling and shaking his hand. “Likewise. My father was quite fond of you. I’m glad you’ve made it here safely.”

Keith glares down at the floor, palms covered in a cold sweat. A shadow falls over him, and he knows immediately that it’s Allura. He braces himself, prepared for her to hit him, kick him, hurt him. Get her revenge.

“I’m assuming you’re Keith?” she asks, voice cool.

Keith swallows thickly. “Yes.”

And then she’s reaching out and…grasping his hand? What’s she planning? To flip him over her shoulder and slam him into the ground? To bring her knee up and strike him somewhere between the wrist and elbow, breaking his forearm? To—

“I’m so relieved that you're here,” she says. Her grip gets a little bit tighter, a little firmer, and—oh. She’s just shaking his hand. “When my father told us that your plan was jeopardised, he said that he’d instruct you to find me. But we hadn’t heard from him since then, so we had no idea what was happening, or where you and Shiro were.” She sighs to herself and pulls away. 

Keith had expected her to greet him with a scowl carved out of hatred with a chisel drenched in rage. He’d expected her eyes to be empty and sunken and so angry that he’d die on the spot from the intensity alone. But instead, he gets kind eyes and a kinder smile—a smile that reminds him so much of Alfor that he can feel the guilt sink its jagged teeth into his heart.

“I was with Lance and Pidge,” Keith blabs stupidly. When all Allura does is tilt her head in confusion, he gestures vaguely over his shoulder.

“Lance and Pidge,” Allura echoes. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Pidge says, shaking Allura’s hand. “I hope we aren’t intruding or anything.”

“Nonsense!” Allura chides. “It’s been so long since we’ve had this much company. We find it refreshing.” 

Then she turns to shake hands with Lance, who greets her with his usual charm and poise. 

As their hands separate, Allura starts to laugh. “I know it’s a bit chilly outside, but it’s warm in here. There’s no need for gloves.”

“Oh…” Lance chuckles nervously. “Ah…I’d prefer to leave them on.”

“My boy, trust me, it’s plenty warm inside,” Coran says. “I know because I’m the one in charge of the thermostat.”

“The cold makes his joints weak,” Allura teases.

Coran sighs. “An unfortunate fact I’d rather not be reminded of.”

Lance bites his lip and looks over at Keith, as if asking, _is it ok?_ Keith nods, and it’s all the confirmation Lance needs. 

“Oh my god…” Allura exclaims when Lance removes his gloves, revealing his cold, shaky, icy hands. Without warning, she touches the back of Lance’s hand with a finger. Lance yelps and yanks his hand back, holding it close to his chest. Keith frowns when he sees a small layer of frost on the tip of Allura’s finger. He frowns even more when he sees the ice spread up to Lance’s wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Lance whispers. “I can’t control it.”

Allura shakes her head, her long hair swishing from side to side with the motion. “No, no, don’t apologise. I shouldn't have touched you without asking. It’s just…I’ve never seen something like this, and my father never mentioned a boy with ice powers…” 

“Did you also escape from the Institute?” Coran asks, leaning in close.

“Uh…Kind of?” Lance frowns. “But not in the way you’re thinking…”

“We need to explain what happened,” Shiro says. “Coran and Allura don’t know the full story.” 

“Wait a second…” Allura’s face gets horribly pale. She curls her right hand into a fist. “Shiro…your arm…”

Shiro smiles ruefully. 

 

* * *

 

A few minutes later they’re all seated in the large living room. Keith runs his hands along the sleek armrest, relishing how smooth it feels. It proves to be a good distraction from the shift in the air; the tension sits heavy in his lungs, sliding down his windpipe in thick rivulets.

Shiro explains everything that’s happened to them so far. He recounts his near-death experience, recounts how Keith managed to find him, recounts Lance’s kidnap and their rescue mission—he recounts everything as best as he can remember, turning to the others for support when his memory gets a bit hazy.

“I always knew the Institute was horrible,” Allura says when Shiro is finally ( _finally_ ) done, and _ah, yes, those are the eyes I thought she’d look at me with_ , “but this is just…it’s so despicable!” 

Coran stays silent. 

“Listen…” Allura murmurs. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“What is it?” Shiro asks.

Allura tugs at a bangle on her wrist. “It’s about the cure.”

Hearing this, Keith’s eyes immediately widen. “What?” he demands. Lance holds his shoulder to keep him steady. “What’s wrong with the cure?”

Allura gulps. “We don’t have it.”

The tension coils around his neck, and for a few seconds Keith forgets how to breathe.

“Please, don't panic!” Allura says. “My father had been working on the cure for a long time. He would document all of his research and findings in a journal. He’d send us his journals in secret because he asked Coran and me to replicate the cure—just in case something went wrong with his. But when he was killed, the Institute took his cure, and the last journal he sent never came.”

“The Institute has it?” Shiro balks. 

“Yes. At their headquarters,” Allura says.

“We need to get it back.” Keith can feel the fire raging in his eyes. 

“No.” Coran’s voice is firm and serious, but when everyone turns to look at him, his tone gets softer. “No, that would be too dangerous. I know you escaped, and I know you managed to infiltrate the Institute to save Lance, but the headquarters is on an entirely new level. It’d be impossible!”

“You don’t get it,” Keith spits. If not for Lance holding him back, he’d probably be up on his feet by now. “We need the cure. We can’t live like this. We don’t _want_ to live like this.” 

“I understand that,” Allura says, holding a hand up when Keith opens his mouth. “But you seem to be forgetting that we have my father’s old journals at our disposal. Coran and I have been working on the cure for just as long as he has. We might not be as intelligent as him, but we’re both doctors. We can find the cure.”

Keith falls still at the words. Lance gently rubs his back, and Keith honestly doesn’t understand why he’s the one getting worked up, while Lance—who was dragged into this mess, who can’t control his power, who is suffering a lot more than Keith is—sits quietly and remains composed. 

“And we have the two of you!” Coran adds. “It’ll be a lot easier now because we can run tests and take blood samples.”

“We already have a few prototypes,” Allura says, smiling gently. “Keith, since your power is more stable, I hope you won’t mind if we use you as our tester?”

“I don’t,” Keith says. _Do whatever it takes_ , is what goes unsaid. If it’ll help Lance, he’d do anything, 

 

* * *

 

Keith steps out of his ensuite bathroom, his bare feet gently padding across the floor as he makes his way toward the bed. He’d stupidly forgotten to turn one of the lamps on, and now his only source of light comes from the digital clock on the bedside table. 

Turns out that Allura’s house—no, actually, it’s Coran’s house; the older man had explained, after taking them all on a grand tour, that’d it’d been in his family for generations—has eight bedrooms, all of them large and extravagant and, in Keith’s opinion, way too big for just one person. 

As he slips under the covers and tries to get comfortable, he realises that he probably won’t be able to sleep. His mind is still buzzing from the day’s events. Getting to Allura’s house had always been the end goal, and he’d thought that once he’d get to her, he’d either be cured or sent away. But now, it turns out that Allura doesn’t have the cure, and his plan is…well…kind of ruined.

He rolls over to lie on his side. A few strands of damp hair stick to his face, and he idly pushes them aside. His pillow smells like his hair—which, for once, actually smells nice, and not like sweat and dirt. The clock shows that it’s 12:28 am. He blinks and the time remains unchanged. He blinks again. 12:30 am. Blinks again. 12:40 am. Again. 1:01 am. Again—

Footsteps. Soft and light across his floor, toward him. In his delusional, half-asleep state, he sits up and swings an arm blindly in front of him, hoping to hit the intruder—

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down! It’s me!”

Keith’s brows scrunch up. “Lance?”

Lance steps forward and Keith’s eyes finally come into focus. He falls back onto his pillow with a sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks. 

“Before we went to bed, you told me to come to you if I need something,” Lance says.

“Yeah.” Keith pauses and sits up again. He holds his hand out, palm facing up. “Give me your hand.”

Lance does so, and Keith immediately frowns in confusion. He should be feeling slick ice and frost, but instead he feels smooth, albeit slightly cracked, cold skin. 

“Lie back down,” Lance says. 

Keith moves his hand back, but Lance tightens his grip, so when Keith falls back onto the bed, Lance is lying by his side.

“What are you doing?”

Lance settles down comfortably, tugging the blanket up to his chin. “What? This bed is huge, we can both fit.”

“No,” Keith says, mouth going dry. “No, I mean…” 

“I’m cold,” Lance says by way of explanation. “I’d feel bad waking you up all the time, but if we share a bed, that problem is solved.”

“No,” Keith sputters. “Lance, I’ll hurt—” 

“You can’t hurt me.”

“But—”

“You can’t.”

Keith holds his breath. “Alright,” he says after a while. “Fine. Go to sleep. Wake me up if you need me.” And with that, Keith quickly turns over, inching as close to the edge of the bed as possible.

“‘Night,” Lance slurs, stifling a yawn. 

Keith goes back to staring at the clock. Blink after blink, time seems to pass by, and he gets closer to falling asleep. Just as his eyelids come down, he feels something solid press up against his back, and he immediately tenses up.

“Sorry,” Lance says. His teeth are chattering. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Keith says, voice low, only half lying. 

Lance tightens his hold on Keith’s back, clinging to him with the desperation of a small child holding the hem of their mother’s shirt. 

“You’re so warm,” Lance mumbles, his breath hitting the nape of Keith’s neck. Keith trembles, and if not for his power, goosebumps would spring up along his arms.

“You’re still cold?” he asks.

“Yeah. Colder.”

“Should I... hug you or something? Would it help?”

Lance inhales shakily. “No, it’s fine. This is enough.” 

Somehow, for some reason, Keith feels relieved and disappointed at the same time.

“Thank you,” Lance says after a moment of silence. “For helping me yesterday. At the cafe.”

The memory bursts to the forefront of his mind, and he digs the nails of his right hand into the back of his left. “Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do.”

Lance hums quietly, voice getting drowsier, more distant. He falls asleep after that, and only then does Keith allow himself to loosen his tense muscles and relax.

 

* * *

 

When Keith wakes up in the morning, he’s alone. He blinks dumbly at the empty space next to him, leans over to run a hand over the wrinkled sheets. They’re cool to the touch, so he can’t tell if Lance just woke up, or if he’s been up for ages.

Keith gets ready quickly and makes his way down to the living room. He hears voices coming from the kitchen, so he pushes the door open and is promptly assaulted by a face-full of smoke and the sound of laughter. 

“Keith!” Allura calls before he even has time to orient himself. “You’re finally awake. I hope you slept well.”

Lance stops chewing his pancakes when their eyes meet and gives him a tiny smile.

“Yeah.” Keith coughs. “I did. Thanks.”

“Join us,” Lance says, patting the seat next to him.

Keith walks over stiffly and sinks down into a chair. He cautiously eyes Lance from the corner of his eyes. “You’re ok now, right? I mean...you’re not cold anymore...right?”

Lance twirls his fork around his fingers and winces when it slips from his grip, clattering to the table. “Of course. I’m perfectly fine, dude.”

“Ok,” Keith sighs. 

“Um,” Pidge calls from the stove. “Guys, is Hunk gonna be back soon, ‘cause I’m not sure I can be trusted with flipping pancakes.”

Allura waves a hand dismissively and says, “Don’t worry, you’re doing fine,” just as Keith asks, “Hunk?”

“Sorry everyone,” an unfamiliar voice says. 

A guy walks in, around the same age as Keith. He’s tall and big, with a build that seems strong and intimidating. But his smile is sweet, and it takes up his entire face, easily reaching his eyes. 

“Hunk!” Pidge and Lance both cheer—Lance in excitement, Pidge in relief.

Hunk rushes over to Pidge's side, taking the frying pan from her hand. He shakes his head when she offers him the spatula she’d been using, and everyone marvels as Hunk elegantly flips the pancake over in the pan.

“You did a pretty good job, Pidge,” he says, observing the few pancakes she successfully managed to cook. 

“There’re a lot of things I can do,” Pidge says, “but cooking is _not_ one of them.” 

“Sorry,” Hunk chuckles. “I needed to go check up on Coran. He’s trying to repair his car, but he refuses to ask me for help. So now I have to kinda watch over him, but without making it seem like I’m watching him. You know?”

Allura clears her throat. “Hunk, you still haven’t met Keith, right?” She stands up fluidly, adjusting her shirt as she does so. 

Hunk swivels around, pan still in hand, and meets Keith’s gaze. “Nice to meet you,” he says, smiling. “I’m Hunk.”

Keith jerks his head down in what he hopes is a nod. “I’m Keith.”

“Hunk and I are childhood friends,” Allura explains. “He lives right down the street.”

Hunk chuckles to himself. “Yep. Allura and I have been friends for ages.”

“Pidge and I are childhood friends, too,” Lance boasts. He winks over at Pidge.

“We’re not,” Pidge says with a frown. “We met in middle school.”

“Yes. And were we not children back then?”

“Maybe _you_ were.” 

Lance is about to retort when Pidge’s face shifts. “Wait a minute...Hunk, did you just say you were fixing Coran’s car?”

Hunk sets down a fresh batch of pancakes. He nods over to Keith; a signal for him to start eating. Keith glances over at Lance, sees him stuffing a pancake in his mouth while pouting at Pidge. Keith follows his actions—without the pouting.

“Yep,” Hunk says. “But I’m not really helping him. I’m just...watching over. He’s really stubborn, so he won’t let me help, so I have to sneak around while he’s in the garage kinda like...a guardian angel, or something.”

“Could you fix our car?” She asks, her eyes shining. 

Hunk shrugs. “Sure. I’ll take a look at it later.”

Pidge beams up at him. “Thanks.”

“Hunk's really good at repairing things,” Allura says proudly. 

Hunk rubs the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. “Well, I’m not that great but...yeah. I am pretty great.”

“He’s studying engineering,” Allura adds.

Lance whistles lowly. “That’s really cool.”

“Engineering?” Pidge bellows, eyes glinting. She clutches the sleeve of Hunk’s shirt and looks up at him in awe. “That’s amazing!”

“Oh, no,” Lance teases. “Pidge's inner nerd is taking over.”

Pidge starts bombarding Hunk with a ton of questions, talking with passion. It’s the first time Keith’s ever seen her act with such child-like glee.

Keith turns back to Lance and Allura—he zoned out the instant Pidge mentioned engines—and clears his throat. “Have you guys seen Shiro?”

“He’s in the garage with Coran,” Allura says, taking a small bite of her food. “Coran somehow managed to trick him into sorting out his toolbox, so I assume he’ll be gone for a while.”

Keith nods slowly in response. He feels something jab him in the side, and turns to see Lance nudge him. 

“Hey, do you think those two nerds”—he points at Hunk and Pidge, stifling a laugh—“will let us help with Matt’s car?”

Hunk perks up a little and turns to Lance. “You guys want to help out? That’ll actually come in handy, we’ll probably be able to—” 

“Actually,” Allura smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, Lance, but I need to run some tests today.”

Hunk blinks for a moment and glances cautiously toward Keith and Lance. “Oh, right,” he says after a moment, “of course. Well, when you guys finish up with the cures feel free to join us.”

“Let’s go!” Pidge cries with glee. “Matt’s car won’t fix itself!”

She grabs Hunk by the hand and rushes out of the room, leaving Lance and Keith to gape after them.

“Hey,” Lance whispers after doing a double-take to make sure they’re gone. “Hunk…knows about the cure?”

Allura picks up her cup of tea and gently blows across the surface, the steam wafting around her face. “He does. He’s known about the Institute for years. In fact, he’s been a big help to Coran and me. A lot of the equipment we use was built by Hunk."

“Isn’t it risky for him to know about it?”

Allura frowns. “Well…I suppose that it is. But I never actually intended for him to find out.” She ducks her head in embarrassment. “It just kind of slipped out. Hunk is like family to me, so he probably would’ve found out about it eventually. I’ve never liked keeping secrets from him.” A wistful expression falls across her features, but it’s gone almost in an instant. “Anyway, as I was saying earlier, I need to run some tests today, but they won’t take up a lot of your time. Then you’re free to join Hunk and Pidge, if you want to.”

“Tests?” Lance echoes, tone cautious. 

“On us?” Keith asks, mouth twisting in a frown.

“Yes.” Allura sighs. “I know you’re probably still feeling tired, but there are a lot of prototypes for the cure to get through. We’ll need to test them all.”

“You’re gonna...test the cures on us?” Lance repeats slowly.

“Actually, we’ll be testing them on Keith, because his power is a lot more stable. I’ll administer a cure, we’ll see if it works, and then we’ll repeat the process until we get it right.”

“Ok,” Keith says, nodding. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lance says, waving his arms around. “How many cures are there?”

Allura laughs nervously. “Over fifty.”

“It seems a bit unfair,” Lance says, frowning, “that Keith needs to be injected with fifty different cures.”

“No, you’re misunderstanding.” Allura leans forward calmly. “We’ll test some on Keith, but we’ll also run separate tests using your blood samples. We’ll take some of your blood as well, Lance, to see if a cure that works well on Keith will work well for you, too.”

Lance bites his lip, eyes shifting uneasily over to Keith. “I don’t know...I mean, I’m all for it, but...”

“It’s ok,” Keith says. “I’ll do it.”

“You sure?” Lance asks. His eyes hold so much in them that Keith finds he can’t look away.

“I’m sure.” For the first time in days, he finally feels confident.

“That’s great!” Allura cheers. “Thank you so much. I promise you,” she pauses here, sits up a bit straighter, “Coran and I will cure you both. We definitely will.”

“Thank you,” Keith whispers.

He doesn’t think Allura hears him, but the way she smiles at him says otherwise.

 

* * *

 

When Allura said she was going to take them down to her lab, Keith pictured a small desk tucked away in the corner of the basement, a bench scattered with papers and vials, maybe a glass cabinet stocked with weird looking chemicals. And, well...he was really only right about it being in the basement. But everything else is—

“This is amazing!” Lance gapes, circling around Allura’s and Coran’s _actual laboratory._ It looks almost exactly like the labs in the Institute, but this one is a bit smaller, and after a quick scan Keith notes it isn’t as well-stocked as the Institute labs either. 

Regardless, it’s still—as Lance put it— _amazing._

“Coran used to run a clinic here,” Allura explains. She walks over to one of the benches and picks up a clipboard, leafing through the pages. “I’m very fortunate to have access to this lab. I’m sure most medical students would be envious.”

“I’m not a medical student but even _I’m_ envious,” Lance says.  

Allura chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Coran would be happy to hear that,” she says. She pauses for a moment and smiles faintly. “This place means a lot to him.” 

The doors bursts open and Coran rushes in, his clothes and hair dishevelled. “Sorry for being late,” he wheezes, hands on knees. He swallows a gulp of air before saying, “Is everything ready?”

Allura takes out a key from her pocket and unlocks the cabinet. She carefully takes out a box and sets it on the nearest bench. “Almost,” she says, nodding for Lance and Keith to sit up on the bench. “How’s your car, Coran?”

“Splendid!” Coran bellows. He puffs his chest out in pride. “I’ll have it fixed in no time.” 

Allura fixes him with a look. “Coran, you’ve been fixing it for _months._ Stop being stubborn and let Hunk help you.”  

“I can do it myself,” Coran protests, crossing his arms. 

Allura rolls her eyes and hands him a white lab coat. “Fine,” she sighs. “Let’s just get to work.”

Lance grunts as he hoists himself up onto the bench. His hand slides back a bit too far, and a few beakers clink and shake, the clear liquid inside them sloshing precariously. Lance winces as he waits for them to settle, and then lets out a breath of relief.

“Oh, don’t worry about those,” Coran says, swiping one of the beakers in his hand. “This is just water.” To emphasise his point, he takes a sip out of the beaker, letting out a refreshing sigh.

“Really?” Lance smiles and takes the other beaker, bringing it up to his lips. Just before his mouth makes contact with the smooth glass, Allura snatches the beaker from his hand and sets it farther down the bench.

“The one Coran is drinking from is water, but the one Lance just took is filled with a rather… _dangerous_ chemical.” She laughs nervously. “Please be mindful that this _is_ a laboratory. Not everything is safe.” 

Lance raises an eyebrow. “But how could Coran tell which one is which?”

Coran raises his beaker up high into the air. “Experience, my boy. And also intuition.” He takes another swig of water.

Allura smiles stiffly. “Right. Well, let’s get started.” She turns to the small box she’d taken out of the cabinet and starts opening it up. Keith joins Lance on the bench, peering over his shoulder to get a better view.

“Whoa…” Lance whispers. “These are all the cures you have?”

The box is filled with a multitude of small vials, packed tightly together. Each vial is clear, which leaves the contents easily visible. Some of the cures are white, some are a dull blue, some are brown—most of them, however, are transparent; just like the vial that contains them.

“Rather than calling them ‘cures,’ ‘prototypes’ is a better fit.” Allura carefully takes out one of the vials. “But yes, these are all the cures we’ve made. The clear ones”—she gently shakes the vial in her hand—“are the basis for most of them. They’re the ones we made using the instructions my father provided in his journal. The coloured ones are our guess for what could be the final cure.”

“Now that you boys are here, we’ll finally be able to test them out.” Coran takes a yellow vial and holds it up to the light. He swirls it around a bit before putting it back. 

“That’s right.” Allura smiles and clasps her hands together. “Now that we have the two of you, it won’t feel like we’re walking around in the dark.”

“How’s this gonna work?” Lance reaches out to poke one of the vials, but Allura swats his hand away. 

“How’s what going to work?” Coran questions.

Lance huffs, glaring lightly at Allura and clutching his arm to his chest. “There’re so many cures here. How will you be able to figure out which ones work better than the others?”

“We’ll run regular tests using your blood,” Allura explains. “And, of course, if Keith is ok with it, we’ll try some of the cures on him as well.”

“I already gave you my permission,” Keith says. “Do whatever you need.”

Allura nods at Coran and he immediately takes off, rushing to the corner of the room and taking out cotton pads, a bottle of medical grade alcohol, disposable gloves, and—

Needles.

Keith swallows thickly. Of course there’d be needles. _Of course._ What did he expect—that they’d condense the cure down into a pill? That they’d let him drink it? He’s being ridiculous.  

“We’ll take blood samples first,” Allura says, flexing her gloved fingers. “Lance?”

“All ready, doc.” Lance rolls the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow. 

Allura gets to work and starts rubbing his skin with an alcohol-soaked cotton pad. Then she sterilises the needle, and brings it down to Lance’s arm, closer and closer to his veins, and—

“Keith?” Coran says gently. “Is everything alright?"

“Yeah,” Keith whispers. “Go ahead.”

The smell of alcohol is strong and invasive. It assaults the sinuses and always leaves Keith’s eyes watery, his skin cold and tingly. It makes his stomach drop because he knows what’s coming next, and it isn’t pleasant.

“I’d normally ask if you’re right handed or left handed, but since we’re going to be taking blood _and_ giving you a cure, there’s not much point.” Coran carefully wraps a hand around Keith’s wrist and guides his left arm forward. 

“Ok,” Keith says absently.

“This might hurt a little,” Coran warns.

Keith never expected it to _not_ hurt. “I can handle it.” 

And he can. He can handle it because he’s handled a lot worse. He can handle it because he isn’t screaming or trying to break free, he isn’t being strapped to a table, he isn’t being held down by a myriad of unfamiliar people. He isn’t being _forced._  

But just because he can handle it doesn’t mean it isn’t easy. If he were to close his eyes—or even blink for a millisecond too long—Keith would be plunged back into his old life at the Institute, and all those old memories will swarm to the surface. He needs a distraction. So he turns to Lance.

Lance is sporting a little band-aid on his arm, in the exact same spot Allura had punctured with her needle. He’s talking about something and Allura’s laughing as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. Lance starts to laugh as well, and Keith decides he could probably listen to the sound for an eternity.

“Finished!”

Keith jerks back in shock. “Huh?”

“All finished!” Coran repeats, holding up an empty vial, and another one filled with red. He then nods down to Keith’s arms, and Keith gapes when he sees the small bandaids on them.

Lance sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Man, I feel for you.” He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and shakes his head solemnly. “Those must’ve hurt like hell.”

The pain slowly begins to register—a dull stinging that gets a bit worse whenever his heart beats. But it doesn’t hurt that bad.

“No,” Keith says. He looks from Coran, who’s now moved to help Allura clean up, to Lance, with his worried eyes and sympathetic frown, and realises it didn’t hurt much at all. “No, it was…”

“Wait. Hold that thought.” Lance lifts Keith’s right arm up and turns it over, as if it were an artefact made of gold. “We’ve done it, Keith."

Keith stares at his own arm, pictures the cure flowing in his veins. “We’ll have to see if it works or not.”

“Even if it doesn’t work,” Lance says, “we’ve made it this far, right? Now Allura and Coran just need to fill in the rest.”

 

* * *

 

For the first time in what feels like years, Keith has nothing to do. There are certainly things he _could_ do—Lance had asked if he wanted to work on Matt’s car with Hunk and Pidge, and Shiro tried to coax him to go shopping with him and Coran—but the problem is Keith just doesn’t feel like doing anything.  

He’s taken to marching up and down the hallway outside his room. After an entire hour of pacing, he’s still feeling restless. Keith pauses next to a window and frowns. He suspected that the cure would have some side effects, but he didn’t think they’d kick in so soon. If he can’t get rid of this weird restlessness, there’s no telling what could go wrong—it’ll be like learning to control his power all over again.

“Keith? What are you doing?”

Allura stands pointedly a few steps away, head tilted in what’s either confusion or intrigue. Keith hopes it’s the latter.

“Nothing,” he says with a shrug. 

Allura assesses him for a moment, humming thoughtfully. “Why’re you alone? Aren’t you usually with Lance?”

“He’s with Hunk and Pidge. They’re fixing Matt’s car.”

“And Shiro?”

“He’s with Coran. They went shopping.”

“Ah.” Allura nods slowly. “You could’ve gone with them. I know how it feels to be cooped up in here for so long. It’d be good for you to go out for a bit.”

Keith leans back against the wall and folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t know, I just...felt like being alone for a bit.”

“Alright. Well…” Allura turns around, about to walk away. “I’ll be down in my lab if you need something.”

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

“Am I supposed to feel like this?”

“Feel like what?”

“The cure.” Keith runs his thumb over one of the bandaids on his arm. “I think it’s making me feel a bit weird.”

“Weird?” Allura steps forward. “Do you feel sick?”

Keith sighs in frustration. “No, not like that. Just…I don’t know—it’s kind of like the cure is fighting with my power, and it’s making me feel anxious.”

Allura nods slowly and brings a hand up to her cheek as she thinks. “That is the essence of the cure. It overpowers your own power and weakens it until it’s completely gone. I should have mentioned this sooner, but the entire process will cause side effects. That’s why you’re not feeling so great right now.”

“I don’t know how to get rid of it,” Keith says. He grips onto his chest tightly, digs his fingers into the flesh until he feels the sting of his nails. “What should I do?”

“Come with me,” Allura says. “I know what will help.”

They walk down the set of stairs leading to the basement, but instead of turning right into Allura’s laboratory, they keep walking straight. They finally stop outside a large room, lined with mirrors on one side and a few punching bags on the other. It’s filled with treadmills and exercise bikes and floor mats, and there’s even a rack with a few (fake, by the looks of it) swords.

“Here we have it,” Allura says, gesturing to the room as she enters. She turns around to Keith, beaming with excitement. “My training room.”

Keith takes a moment to collect himself. Just when he thought this house—no...this _mansion_ —couldn’t get any bigger, Allura just has to show him _this._  

“When I was a child,” Allura starts, “I told my father I wanted to take taekwondo lessons. I kind of expected him to laugh at me, but he was surprisingly supportive.” She diverts her gaze to the floor, her smile trembling just the slightest bit. “He never signed me up for a class because he wanted me to stay incognito. I begged Coran to secretly sign me up for one, but he wouldn’t disobey my father. Then one day, Coran led me down here and said he’d turn this into a training room so I could learn it here, without having to leave home. And”—she looks back at Keith and laughs—“he did pretty well, don’t you think?”

Keith’s jaw is still very much on the floor, wedged between a few of the mats. “Yeah...”

Allura flops down onto with floor with a sigh. Her white coat splays out around her but she doesn’t seem to care. Keith half expects her to say something, so when she doesn’t he gingerly sits down next to her.

“You know,” she says after a while, “I’m jealous of you.”

Keith’s glad he sat down; her words easily pluck the wind from his lungs. “You? Jealous? Of me?”

Allura seems almost embarrassed. She tucks her knees up, brings them close to her chest. “You must think I’m being selfish. I grew up with a loving guardian and this life of luxury and riches...” her voice grows quiet, and Keith strains to hear the rest of her sentence. “...And you grew up in the Institute.”

“So what’s your point?” Keith asks.

Allura laughs again, but this time Keith is able to recognise the fuel behind it. It isn’t embarrassment. It’s something else—something he is well acquainted with. Shame.

“Forgive me for saying this. I don’t mean to make light of your circumstances, but...you _know_ my father. He spent more time with you than he did with me.” 

Keith’s expression darkens and his eyes flood with pain. “If it wasn’t for me—”

“No!” Allura cuts him off. “Stop it. I’m not blaming you for his death. The Institute is at fault for that. They took him away from me, just as they took away your freedom and—well, your everything, really.” She clenches her teeth for a few seconds, but all too soon her features are as smooth and calm as usual. “When my mother was still alive, I’d see my father maybe once in a month or two. When she died, he asked Coran to become my guardian and I moved here. I only got to see him a few times a year.”

Keith has never been good with words or comforting people. So this time, he doesn’t bother to say anything; he’d probably make things worse. But maybe this moment doesn’t need words. The silence is enough.

“After a while…I didn’t see him at all. The only contact I had was when he’d call, but even then he’d usually just talk to Coran.”

“He was worried.” Keith interjects. “He was protecting you.”

Allura’s hair cascades over her shoulder like silk. “From the Institute? I know that. He didn’t want me to get hurt.” She tilts her head up and sighs, the bright lights easily reflecting off her teary eyes. “But I still got hurt in the end.”

“If I had known what they’d do to him, I wouldn’t have escaped. I wouldn’t have agreed to the plan.”

Allura smiles tightly. She nods her head, more to herself than to Keith, and wipes at her eyes. “No. No, it’s…” she trails off, sighs, and clears her throat. “I was just hoping that you could do something for me.”

“What is it?”

Her eyes shine like a puppy’s. “What was he like?” When Keith only responds with a blink, she leans in closer. “My father.”

“Uh...”

Her face falls for a moment, but she continues. “Is there anything about him you can tell me?”

“I…” Keith looks away for a moment. “I don’t know…He was always kind of secretive.”

Allura sighs and stands up, dusting off her clothes. “Right. He was always cautious about that. Never mind. Anyway, please feel free to use this room. It might help you—” 

“He liked to sing.”

Allura pauses. “I’m sorry?”

Keith looks up toward the ceiling, squinting at the harsh lights as he gathers his thoughts. “Your father,” he repeats slowly. “Sometimes I’d pass by his office and I’d hear him sing.”

Allura’s eyes widen and she’s down on her knees immediately. “Really?” She leans forward, a few loose strands of hair falling over her eyes.

“Yeah. He liked to tell jokes as well. Sometimes he’d compete with Shiro to see who could tell the worst ones.”

Allura chuckles. “Yes, he was always fond of his jokes.”

“Uh…” Keith scours his mind for any other tiny details he can remember about Alfor. “Oh, he also liked cats.”

“We used to have a cat, you know. When I was young.”

“Was it white and really fluffy? Kind of big?”

Allura gapes in shock. “How’d you know?”

“Alfor had some photos on his phone. He used to show them to me whenever I was sad,” Keith says with a small grin. His chest fills with warmth as he remembers all the nice times he’s shared with Alfor, but the warmth evaporates and turns to a chilling bitterness when he realises he’ll never get to relive those moments again.

“You miss him,” Allura says gently.

Keith’s nails scratch across the floor as he curls his hands into fists. He holds the tension there for a moment, tells himself he needs to calm down, and unfurls his fingers on a shaky sigh. “I do,” he admits in a whisper. “Alfor was a good man."

He feels a slight pressure on his hand, and looking down he finds Allura’s fingers clasping his palm. She smiles at him, eyes watery, and simply nods.

She leaves after that, but the scent of her floral perfume and the pungent stench of melancholy still linger in the air long after she walks out the door. 

 

* * *

 

Keith wipes the sweat from his forehead, trying to catch his breath. He reaches out to steady the swaying punching bag, the raw skin around his knuckles stinging as he moves his hand. 

Training was never very fun at the Institute—most of the time he’d end up broken and bruised beyond repair, until one of the doctors or scientists got their hands on him and gave him a few injections to heal him up. He always hated those injections. Not only were they painful, but they took away all of his bruises and marks, all of the  _proof_ of his suffering and turmoil, so that sometimes he’d wake up feeling miserable without knowing how or why, questioning if he even had the right to feel like that. The scars on his back are one of the few on his body, and as much as he dislikes them, as much as he feels like they imprison him, the fact that they’re there in the first place reminds him that what he went through was _real._  

But the thing is, sometimes he needs to move around, tire his body—his _fire—_ out a bit. Especially now with Allura’s cure wreaking havoc inside him, he needs to do whatever he can to stay in control.  

Keith slowly starts to amble out of the training room. Allura left her lab a while ago, so it’s not surprising to see it shrouded in darkness as he walks past. 

He climbs up the stairs and shuffles down the hallway, content that the fire has finally started to settle down a bit. The flames that once felt hot and explosive, left him feeling jittery and anxious as they fought the cure for control, have now all gone quiet. 

The kitchen is empty by the time he gets there—an odd sight because dinner was only an hour or two ago, and he expected to see Lance or Pidge or _someone_ in there.  

As he closes the fridge door he catches sight of the time displayed on the microwave, glowing a bright yellow. His eyes bug out when he realises that dinner wasn’t one or two hours ago—it was much, _much_ longer than that. 

Keith curses to himself, remembers that he needs to be quiet because everyone’s sleeping right now. He tip-toes down the hallway but before he gets to his room, something occurs to him.

He’s been training down in the basement for hours, but no one came to look for him? _Lance_ didn’t come to look for him? 

He’d declined Lance’s offer to come join him, Pidge, and Hunk for a round of Monopoly or Uno or whatever game it is they wanted to play. Was Lance upset? Is that why he didn’t bother to check on Keith? All he wanted was to spend some time alone, away from everyone else—he never meant any harm.

Keith knows his mind is going down a weird tangent, knows that being jealous—jealous? Is that really it?—like this will just hurt him in the end, so he takes all these weird thoughts and crushes them like he would to a ball of fire in the palm of his hand.

A shadow appears up ahead and Keith squints in the distance, trying to place it. He sees a familiar, tall silhouette, and knows immediately that it’s Shiro. 

He follows after him, eager to see why he’s awake at this hour, but just as he’s about to call out, someone else beats him to it. 

“Shiro,” Lance says, voice laced with surprise. “Why are you up?”

Shiro disappears from the hallway and enters the living room. Keith stops dead in his tracks and sucks in a breath.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Shiro says in his usual chiding tone. Keith hears him sigh as he sits down, his joints creaking with the movement.

“I just...couldn’t sleep. A lot of stuff on my mind, you know?”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. “I know.”

“You must be under a lot of stress. I mean...so much has happened...”

“Yeah,” Shiro says again, and it’s the first time Keith has ever heard him sound so...weak. So un-Shiro like. Because Shiro has always been the strong one, the brave one—the pillar when Keith can’t stand on his own legs. 

“If you want to talk about it...” Lance trails off, almost hesitant.

“I had a...a nightmare.” Shiro’s tone is clipped, words falling from his mouth like sharp pieces of glass. 

Keith can’t see them—he’s still hidden in the hallway—but he can feel that Lance is nodding his head, his eyes gleaming in that calm, understanding way they always do. 

Lance doesn’t say anything else; doesn’t urge Shiro to talk some more or to elaborate. But Shiro goes on regardless.

“It’s hard sometimes,” he confesses. He sounds so tired. “It’s hard to...adjust to this life.”

Keith’s mouth goes dry, sand filling his throat and lungs. His hands, in contrast, start getting clammy, and he wipes them shakily on the hem of his shirt.

“Adjust...” Lance echoes, pondering the word. “It must’ve been hard for you. You did a really brave thing, Shiro.”

Shiro laughs lightly. Sadly. “I’m glad you think I’m brave. I don’t feel brave at all. I feel...weak. Really weak and just...tired.” 

Keith knows that at this moment, Shiro’s eyes drift down to his right arm. He knows because Lance—softly, quietly—sucks in a breath. He knows because Shiro sounds sad and broken, as if the weight of the world on his shoulders is finally getting to be too much for him to bear. He knows because his heart starts to hurt, starts to twist and tear and ache, and he thinks maybe he’ll drown in the guilt.

“It’s ok to feel weak. It’s ok to feel tired. You don’t have to be strong for us, Shiro.”

Keith wonders how many times nightmares have plagued Shiro, left him feeling hollow and empty upon waking up. He wonders what kind of nightmares haunt him, if they’re like his own and Shiro sees himself getting hit by the car, or if he relives it all over again, or if he sees Alfor getting killed. 

It’s horrible. _Keith_  is horrible. Shiro always seemed so strong, so untouchable, so above everyone else, as if he could dodge all the bad the world throws in his direction.  

But now Keith knows the truth—Shiro has his own troubles; his own demons to deal with. 

“Thank you,” Shiro says, sincere. “Thank you, Lance.”

Lance chuckles. “Don’t mention it.”

“And how are you feeling?” Shiro asks. 

“Fine,” Lance says with a sigh. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Lance. I can tell that you’re lying.”

“Huh? What are you—” Lance pauses mid-sentence and breaks out into nervous laughter. “Oh, right. I forgot. I should’ve worn gloves or something.”

“I know that it’s overwhelming,” Shiro says. “But don’t worry. We came here to cure you and Keith, and it’ll happen. Allura and Coran are very talented. It’ll just take some time to get the cure working.”

“No, I know that,” Lance starts, “but that’s not...I mean, it _is_ , but there’s—there’s something else that’s—” 

“Your family.” Shiro’s voice is firm but gentle. “That’s what’s bothering you.”

Lance sucks in a breath. Keith recognises the sound, can see in his mind’s eye the ice wrap around Lance’s fingers, and is about to walk into the living room when Shiro’s voice makes him halt.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Shiro whispers. “It’s ok. Calm down. Talk to me, Lance. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Lance’s voice shudders. “It’s nothing. We have more important things to worry about.”

“This is important too,” Shiro insists. “Talk to me.”

“I feel so dumb,” Lance confesses. His voice is so tiny that Keith has to step a bit closer to hear him. “We have such important things to deal with, and I’m over here missing my family and—and—”

Lance makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. Shiro stays quiet, just like Lance did when he shed his facade and revealed his inner thoughts. 

“I’m so worried,” Lance grits out. “I can’t remember anything that happened at the institute, so sometimes I wonder if I did something stupid...like what if they asked me for my address and I gave it to them? What if they asked for my parent's address? What if my parents are in danger because of me?”

“They’re not,” Shiro says calmly. “The Institute wouldn’t target a whole entire family. It’s too ambitious. It’s too _risky_.”

“Yeah, I get that. But you guys said it yourself—the Institute is _cruel.”_  

“Yes, but—”

“Pidge said she contacted my family before you all saved me. She told them that my phone broke and that I would be too busy with schoolwork to call them for a while. But I hardly ever go _a day_ without calling them. And it’s been so long!” 

Keith doesn’t know what it’s like to have a family. It’s gotten to the point where he can barely remember his mother’s face or the sound of his father’s voice. To him, a parent’s touch—a parent’s _love—_ is completely foreign.  

But he can remember what it was like to miss them. He drowned in the feeling of loss, struggled to surface for air, and even when he _did_ surface he’d only get knocked back down—faster, deeper.  

Lance is the one that’s drowning now. He’s the one that’s holding his breath, fighting the waves, swimming against the current. 

And Keith? He denies it, but it’s true—he’s still in the water. 

“Your family trust you. I’m sure they trust Pidge as well. I’m not going to say that they aren’t worried about you because they probably are, but they _trust you._ Ok? Listen to me, Lance. Don’t forget it.” 

Keith feels like he shouldn’t be eavesdropping—that he doesn’t have the right to listen, or the right to try to help.

“Honestly I...” Lance sighs heavily. “I don’t know what to do. I kinda thought Allura would already have the cure and that I’d be at home by now...I just didn’t expect things to turn out like this.”

_I’d be home by now._

That’s right. Lance has a home. He has somewhere to go when all of this is over. He has people waiting for him, missing him. He has people that _love_  him. 

“I didn’t want to risk calling anyone while we were driving here, but we’re safe now. I’m sure if you ask Allura or Coran they’d let you contact your parents.”

“No. It’s still too risky. I’ve probably already put my family in danger.”

“You didn’t.”

“How can you tell? You weren’t at the Institute with me, Shiro. Hell, I _was_ there and I don’t know anything about what happened. They could’ve hooked me up to a lie detector or—or given me a truth serum and asked for all my account passwords and my credit card number and my address and—” 

“Hey, hey, take a breath. Slow down.”

“If they did something to my family,” Lance chokes out shakily, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

Keith inhales sharply. His legs start to move on autopilot; he’s down the hallway in an instant. He doesn’t need to hear what else Lance is going to say; Keith knows no matter how hard Shiro tries he won’t be able to convince Lance to contact his family.

When he makes it back to his room he doesn’t bother with showering or brushing his teeth. His training session left him physically drained, but overhearing Lance has sapped out all of his remaining energy. He plops down on the bed face first and hopes he’ll fall asleep before Lance comes into the room.

Half an hour passes when the door creaks open and socked feet pit-pat across the floor. Keith tries not to tense up and curses the fact that he’s a light sleeper. He keeps his body still, tries to make his breaths rise and fall in a steady rhythm, pretending to sleep.

Lance sniffs, sighs, and then climbs into bed, nestling under his large and excessive pile of blankets. His shivers are more like tremors, so when he huddles closer and closer to Keith, curling around him for warmth, Keith doesn’t pull away. Lance sighs again, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Keith’s back. 

Keith still doesn’t pull away.

He waits until Lance’s body goes lax and his breathing gets calm, and then—and only then—does Keith finally turn around to face him.

Lance’s face is always the most peaceful when he’s sleeping. Sometimes a bit of frost will dust Lance’s cheeks and he’ll shake a bit harder, his nose crinkling, brow wrinkling, lips pulled in a tight line. Ideally, Keith would immediately bring his hand up to melt it all away, but there’s always a hitch in his movements that he can’t seem to shake—the smallest hint of hesitation. 

But today he watches Lance with gentle, fond eyes, and when the frost makes its appearance Keith’s hand fluidly rises up—no pause, no hitch, no hesitation—to cup Lance’s cheek. Lance leans into the touch, chases after the warmth, and Keith lets him have it.

He’ll help Lance somehow. He’ll figure it out. 

Keith won’t let him drown.

 

* * *

 

“Keith? Are you sure it’s ok for us to be out in the open like this?”

Keith looks over his shoulder, slowing down the slightest bit when he sees that Lance needs to catch up. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me if I wasn’t.”

Lance huffs, his breath fogging in the frigid air. “At least tell me where we’re going.”

“You’ll see.”

They continue to walk in silence, trudging along the street, passing underneath bare branches that coil over their heads. 

There aren’t many people out today, which makes Keith breathe a little easier. He’s sure Lance feels the same way—as much as Lance loves going out and exploring new areas, the fact that his power is still so unstable is probably what’s keeping him from going outside. It also explains why he’s dressed in so many layers.

Keith frowns as they come to stop at a set of traffic lights. That’s right, Lance is wearing a _ton_ of layers. An undershirt, two long sleeved shirts, a hoodie, and his usual jacket. But he’s _still_ shivering, his teeth chattering as he braces himself against a sudden cold breeze, huddling closer to Keith for warmth. 

Keith sheds his own jacket and sets it down on Lance’s shoulders. The cold wind bites at his bare arms, but Keith doesn’t mind it. A pleasant warmth thrums inside him. He focuses on it and soon enough it’s spreading to his entire body, from head to toes. 

Lance looks at him in alarm. “I don’t need this. I-I'm not cold.”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Ok, maybe I’m a little cold,” Lance admits, tugging the collar of Keith’s jacket up. “But aren’t you cold too?”

The light turns green and a few pedestrians on the other side of the road start to amble toward them. Keith steps forward and Lance follows suit.

“I’m not,” Keith says, keeping his hands out of his pockets on purpose, just to prove a point. “I’m never cold.”

“Ugh, yeah, I know,” Lance says sourly, more to himself. “I keep forgetting that. But seeing you wearing only a shirt in this weather makes me feel even colder, you know.”

“That...doesn’t make much sense.”

Lance shrugs. “I’ll tell you what doesn’t make sense. We’ve been walking for ages and you still won’t tell me where we’re going.” He crosses his arms, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you planning?"

Keith stops walking. “Lance.”

“Is it the grocery store?” Lance groans. “Coran and Shiro already went yesterday, so I don’t see why we need to go as well.”

“Lance.”

“What?” Lance snaps.

Keith nods to the phone booth he’s standing next to.

Lance blinks once in confusion, then again in shock, and finally in resignation. “Oh,” he says, meek. 

“Contact your family, Lance,” Keith says in a voice he hopes is as firm and commanding as Shiro’s.

“I...” Lance’s eyes have never held so much fear. “I...I’m going back—”

“Lance,” Keith pleads, “please call them.”

“Let go,” Lance whispers, shaking his arm to try to loosen Keith’s grip. “Let _go._ ” 

“Listen to me.” Keith winds his hands up to Lance’s forearms, locks his fingers onto the sleeves of Lance’s— _his—_ jacket. “I know why you won’t call them.”

“You don’t,” Lance’s voice breaks dangerously. His hands are gloved, his arms are covered by layers of cloth, yet Keith still feels the raging ice beneath his fingers. “Let me go.”

This time, Keith listens. His fingers loosen and Lance stumbles back, pulling his arms up to his chest. 

“Coran's house is safe. He’s been in contact with Alfor for years but nothing bad ever happened to him or Allura.”

“Yeah, but what if we weren’t careful enough? What if the Institute knows we’re here?”

“Then they’d have caught us by now."

“You don’t get it. I—who knows what I told them? My family...they might be...” Lance winces and stops talking abruptly, as if saying the words out loud is more painful than the ice that cages him.

“You could have called them anytime this entire week. You could’ve. But you don’t want to because you’re scared.”

Lance’s eyes flash red. “Of course I’m scared!” He spits. “If I call them I’ll just put them in more danger! Do you— do you even know how much that—”

“No,” Keith whispers. “No, that’s not why. You’re scared to call them because you think it’s too late.”

Lance stiffens. 

“You’re scared,” Keith continues, stepping closer, “that the Institute already hurt them. You’re scared to find out. So you won’t—”

“Shut up,” Lance says weakly.

“—you won’t call them.”

Lance swallows thickly, glaring at the ground. “I can’t do it,” he admits. “I just—something could’ve happened to them. I don’t know what to do.”

“Call them,” Keith says gently. 

Lance shakes his head wildly. His voice hitches in panic. “I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t—”

“Hey,” Keith whispers. “If you really don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

“Ok,” Lance says stiffly. “Ok. Great. Then let’s just—”

“But you should.”

Lance’s face falls and he exhales a shaky puff of air. “Keith...don’t make me do this.”

“I won’t,” Keith says. He turns his head over to look at the empty phone booth. “But I still think you should.”

“And what if they don't answer?” Lance’s voice breaks, chips off, and falls to shambles. “Then what will I do?”

Keith doesn’t know what to say. So, he decides not to say anything at all. He squeezes Lance’s shoulder, an affirmation that he’ll be there for him—that he’ll _always_ be there.  

Lance bites down on his lip. “Fine,” he whispers. “Fine,” he repeats, his eyes growing wide with fear as the words tumble from his mouth, as if he can’t believe he’s actually saying them. He breaks from Keith’s hold and walks to the phone booth. His joints are stiff, and each footstep falls heavy like steel on concrete. But he makes it. He gets into the phone booth, picks up the phone, and then pauses. 

Keith lingers outside, kicking a few stray pebbles. He looks up when Lance calls his name. “Yeah?”

Lance almost looks uncertain. “Don’t leave.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “I’ll be right here.”

“No, I mean,” Lance swallows thickly, “stay here. With me.” He nods to the small space next to him. The phone booth can barely fit him, but Keith still finds himself wedged between Lance and a glass wall.

“Thanks,” Lance sighs.

Keith shifts a little, feeling awkward. “Are you sure you’re ok with me being in here?”

“Yeah,” Lance says absently. He probably didn’t even hear what Keith said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re gonna do it?” Keith asks quietly. 

The receiver must feel like lead in Lance’s cold hands. He stares at it for the longest time, emotions flitting across his face too fast for Keith to process them. His eyes swim with unshed tears. “Do you have any change?”

Keith takes out a few coins from his pocket. He holds them out to Lance, but Lance shakes his head, makes a sound that sounds simultaneously like a sob and a whine. 

“You do it,” he says. He tries for a chuckle, but it comes out ragged and strained. “It’s bad enough I have to dial.”

Keith smoothly inserts the coins into the slot. Lance stares at his hand with such intensity that Keith’s skin starts to prickle. When he’s finally done, Lance begins to dial. 

With each press of a button, Keith’s heart thunders wildly, a beast trying to escape from his ribcage. He tells himself everything will be ok. He tells himself that Lance’s family will answer. And _of course_ they will. They love him, he loves them; they’ll get the happy ending they deserve. 

Lance sucks in a breath when the phone starts to ring. 

It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. They’ll answer.

_Click._

Time screeches to a halt. Keith starts chanting in his mind, over and over, _please answer, please say something._ A second passes but it feels more like a year. Lance’s whole body trembles with anticipation. With fear. 

And then, a voice. “Hello?”

Keith nervously looks over at Lance, gauging his reaction. 

“Hello?” The voice says again. 

And Lance...Lance starts to cry. 

“Mama,” he croaks out between sobs. “It’s me. It’s Lance.”

His mother gasps softly. She starts talking so fast that Keith can barely understand. Lance continues to cry, but this time his tears don’t turn to ice as they slide down his cheeks. These aren’t tears of sadness. They’re tears of relief—tears of _joy._ That’s what it looks like to love. That’s what it looks like to _be_ loved.  

Keith’s never cried like that before.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says to his mother. “I promise I’m ok.” He starts talking in Spanish and Keith zones out for a moment, feels like he’s intruding. He’s tempted to get out of the booth, but he sees the pure joy on Lance’s face, hears it in his voice, and he can’t bring himself to move.

“I can’t come home yet,” Lance says in English. “There’s something I need to do.” He pauses as his mother continues to ask questions. Keith can’t hear what she asks, but his ears manage to pick up one thing.

“Are you alone?” His mother asks. “Is Pidge with you at least?”

“She is,” Lance answers. He meets Keith’s eyes and smiles. “But I have some other friends here with me, too. And we can’t leave until we fix something. Until we sort something out.”

A strange warmth fills Keith’s chest. He blames it on the cure Allura tested on him, rather than on Lance’s smile.

“I have to go now,” Lance continues. “I don’t know if I’ll call you again, but just...wait for me. I’ll be home soon.” He smiles again, a private smile meant for his mother, even though she’s miles and miles away. “I love you. I love you all.”

And just like that, he hangs up. 

A pause. “That,” Keith starts slowly, “went well.”

Lance wipes a few stray tears from his eyes and hiccups. “Honestly, I don’t what I would’ve done if—” he stops abruptly and shakes his head. 

“I’m glad they’re ok.”

“Yeah,” Lance whispers. “Me too.”

They start walking back home, feet hitting the ground in unison. When they stop at the traffic lights and wait for them to turn green, Keith feels something being pushed into his arms.

His jacket.

“I’m alright now,” Lance says, adjusting his clothes. His cheeks are still a bit red from crying, his eyes still a bit glossy, but he looks happy. He looks... _alive._

“You sure?” Keith blinks down at his jacket. “I told you, I’m not cold. You can wear it.”

The lights turn green and Lance’s eyes flit down to Keith’s hand. He grabs it and tugs him along, crossing to the other side. 

“It’s a lot warmer now.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!! I want to apologise for taking so long to upload this chapter. these past few months I was quite busy with uni and had a hard time finding time to write, and whenever I did write I just wasn't happy with how it was turning out :') so I decided to wait until I was back on holiday to finish this chap, and now I can finally upload it!!!!
> 
> thank you all for your support, and thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it !!! ^^


	10. Chapter 10

“Alright! Let’s get started!” Coran bellows, snapping on a pair of gloves. His hand moves toward the box of cures, hovering over each of the small vials as he tries to pick the right one. “Allura? Which one are we testing today?”

From the corner of the lab, hunched away at her small desk, Allura looks up from her microscope. “Pardon?” 

Coran points to the vials. “Which one for today?” 

Allura purses her lips in thought. “It should be Prototype 12.” 

“Prototype 12,” Coran repeats, mumbling to himself. He picks up a vial, squints at the small, barely legible number written on the side, before shaking his head and putting it back. He does this a few times until finally, he finds the right vial. 

Keith sits up on the bench, the sleeve of his left arm already rolled up in preparation for the needle. Over the past month, Allura and Coran have tested seven different prototypes, but so far they’ve all failed. Some seemed to work well but would get worse over time, making his power a lot less stable than it usually is. Others would do absolutely nothing, make him _feel_ nothing, just sitting uselessly in his body. 

As Coran gets everything ready, Lance takes to pacing around the lab, brows furrowed in thought.  

“Lance, my boy,” Coran sighs. “Your pacing is making me feel anxious. Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestures to a chair on the opposite end of the room. 

Lance ducks his head in embarrassment and walks over to get the chair. He sets it down near Keith, swings a leg up and sits on it backwards, so his chest is pressed up against the chair’s backrest.  

Keith kicks his leg out, lightly nudging Lance’s chair. “What’s wrong? You seem out of it.” 

Lance runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “Nothing!” He says, tone clipped. He sighs and leans forward in his seat, arms propped on the back of his chair. “I just..I don’t know. It’s nothing.” He gives a small smile and Keith decides not to prod him any further. 

“Ok, Keith, are you ready?” Coran already has the needle in his hand. 

“Sure.” 

Coran movements are practiced and methodical; in no time Keith’s skin is sterilised and the needle is inching closer and closer to his skin. Over the past month, Coran’s become faster at administering the cure, already used to the entire procedure. Keith wishes he could say the same for himself; he still cringes internally at the mere sight of the needle, still can’t keep his heart from kicking into panic.  

Just before the skin punctures his skin, Keith looks up at the ceiling lights. He doesn’t move his gaze away until he feels the sharp sting in his arm.  

Spots start dancing in his eyes when he looks away, out of place like splotches of paint thrown haphazardly on a white canvas. But even with the spots obscuring his view, he can still make out the frown tugging on Lance’s lips. It’s the one thing he doesn't want to see. 

“Coran?” Lance asks tentatively. He sticks his tongue out to dampen his dry lips.  

Coran hums lowly as he fixes a bandaid on Keith’s arm. He’s run out of plain ones, so he’s settled for a Hello Kitty set instead, much to Keith’s chagrin. “Yes, my boy? What is it?” 

Lance shifts anxiously, and if his chair had wheels he’d probably be rolling all over the place. “Is there anything I could do? You know, cure wise?” 

“Not that I can think of,” Coran says. He taps a finger idly on the bench before perking up. “Ah! I know!” He shuffles over to a messy pile of papers and pulls out a clipboard. “You can help me take notes!”

Lance’s shoulders sag, his whole demeanour deflating. He hesitantly takes the clipboard from Coran and casts an uneasy look toward Keith. His mouth turns into a deeper frown. “No, I mean, can’t you try testing a cure on me as well? It’s not that fair for Keith to have to test so many of them.”

“Oh, no,” Coran says quickly. “No, definitely not. It’s far too dangerous. Your power is too unstable.”

The conversation must have spiked Allura’s attention because she gets up from her desk and walks over to stand by Coran. “He’s right,” she says with a nod. “It’s too risky to test it on you, Lance.”

“But I think it’s gotten a lot better!” Lance argues. “I think I’m able to control it a lot more now.” He removes the fuzzy gloves from his hands, shoving them toward Allura and Coran, palms facing up. “See? There’s no ice.”

Allura carefully touches the palm of his hand with a finger. “That may be the case,” she says, “but…”

“Keith can vouch for me.” Lance insists. “I can control my power now, right, Keith?”

Keith doesn’t like where this is going. “Uh...I guess you do have better control than before, but you don’t need to test the cures. I can do it. I really don’t mind.”

“But _I_ mind!” Lance cries. He rises from his chair, his gaze intense. “I feel like I’m not doing anything. Let me help. Let me do something.” 

“Lance, you _are_ helping,” Allura says. 

Lance shakes his head furiously. “No, I don’t mean filling out the clipboard or organising stuff, although I am happy to do all that. Let me try the cures, too.”

Allura sighs softly. “Even if we test them on you, we’d still need to test them on Keith as well. But it’s not worth the risk, Lance. We can’t give you anything until we’re certain it’ll work on you.”

“Besides,” Coran starts, “You help us by providing us with blood samples.” He places a hand on Lance’s shoulder and squeezes.

Lance gives a small, uneasy smile. “Alright. If you say so.”

 

* * *

 

“I checked online and the parts we need are gonna cost _a lot._ ”

A frustrated sigh, the hum of the kettle, the clank of a fork hitting a plate. 

“Yeah, I know. I did some research myself and saw the figures. We’re going to have to get the parts from somewhere else.” 

Chair scraping against the floor, refrigerator opening and closing. A dog barks in the distance.  

“I’ll snoop around the engineering labs tomorrow. There might be something useful there.” 

A gasp of shock. 

“You’re not thinking of stealing, are you?” A playful voice. 

“Oh, no, of course not. It’s not stealing when you pay thousands of dollars for a single subject. No, it’s just…taking what’s rightfully yours.” 

Laughter. A _ding._  

“Oh, looks like Keith’s toast is ready. He…He’s not asleep, is he?” 

Banging on the table. 

“Keith. Keith. Wake up!” 

Keith’s eyes snap open. He blearily looks around and quickly sits up straight, clearing his throat. “Ye—,” his voice breaks off into a cough, and he clears his throat before trying again. “What’s up?” 

Hunk sets a plate down in front of him, smiling gently. “You seem tired. Didn’t get much sleep?” 

Keith mumbles his thanks as he picks up his knife and reaches for the strawberry jam. “I didn’t.” He scoops out a small amount of jam and starts spreading it across some of his toast, stifling a yawn. 

“How come?” Pidge asks, chewing thoughtfully on her cereal.  

Keith shrugs. “My throat. It feels weird. Scratchy.”  

Hunk whistles lowly. “I know that feeling. Here, I’ll make you some tea. That should help.” 

No less than a minute later, Keith has a piping hot mug of tea in his hands. He inhales the steam, detects the sweet scent of honey and the tanginess of lemon, and slowly takes a sip. The tea burns his tongue, and he winces, forcing himself to swallow. 

“You should wait for it to cool down,” Hunk says. He takes a bite of his scrambled eggs, waving his fork at Keith’s direction. “If you drink it while it’s too hot, it might make your throat worse.” 

“Wait,” Pidge says, her voice muffled as she talks around a mouthful of cereal. “I thought hot stuff helps your throat. You know, like tea or soup.” 

“Nope. Nope, it definitely makes it worse.” 

“Are you sure that’s not tonsillitis?” 

“That’s…the same thing, isn’t it?” 

“What’s the same thing?” Lance asks as he walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing one of his usual large hoodies (most likely over a t-shirt, but Keith isn’t sure), sweatpants, and some  _ridiculously_ fuzzy pink socks he got from Allura when he complained about it being too cold. Compared to the number of layers he used to wear, he’s wearing a lot less now. It seems like he really is getting better, but if you look close enough, there’re still blatant signs of the impact his power—his lack of _control—_ has over his body. Keith sees it in the way Lance bunches his hands in his pockets or in the loose sleeves of his hoodie. Sees it in the way he heads straight for the kettle, in the way he doesn’t shy away from touching his hot cup of tea with the bare hands, in the way he doesn’t even flinch when drinking the same tea that made Keith wince.  

“Keith has a sore throat,” Pidge explains. “We’re wondering if that’s the same as tonsillitis.” 

Lance’s mouth pulls in a tight line. He ignores Pidge and instead turns straight to Keith. “You have a sore throat?” 

Keith doesn’t like all the scrutiny. “It’s not a big deal,” he croaks. 

Lance’s eyebrows pinch together, his forehead creasing in a way that makes him look infinitely older than he is. “I should take a note of this…” He sits down and pulls out a small notebook and a pen from his pocket. 

“Wow, would you look at that,” Pidge teases, watching Lance flip through pages upon pages until finally settling on one. “Lance is doing homework.” 

“It’s not homework,” Lance says, rolling his eyes. “I’m just keeping some notes on the prototypes and what kind of effect they have on Keith. I figured it’d be a good idea.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Keith says. He reaches over his toast, aiming for Lance’s notebook, but Lance sees through his moves and bars his path by sticking his elbow out.  

Lance says nothing and starts writing. “Prototype 12,” he says to himself, tongue poking out in concentration. In neat letters, he writes beneath ‘Prototype 12’, ‘10am — sore throat’. 

Keith groans in annoyance and makes another swipe for the notebook. This time, Lance shifts his chair around so he’s facing the wall. He doesn’t stop writing even for a second. 

“Just because Coran told you to take notes yesterday doesn’t mean you have to take it _this_ far,” Keith says. 

Lance tenses up, the lines of his back going rigid. He narrows his eyes, meets Keith’s frustrated glare with his own to match. “Just let me do this, ok? Allura and Coran are working hard to find a cure for us, and you’re the one that’s testing them, so where does that leave me if I can’t be a cure-tester too?” He taps his notebook with his pen. “This is my way of helping out." 

“You do enough to help by providing blood samples. Did you even hear what they told you yesterday?” 

“Of course I did,” Lance says. He’s tucked his notebook back into his pocket and has turned back around to face Keith. “They told me I can’t test the cures. And…I get it. It’s too risky, and all that.” He shrugs, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “So if I can’t help out in that aspect, then I thought maybe there’s something else—” 

Keith grits his teeth, frustrated that Lance just doesn’t _get it._ “Lance—” 

“ _Keith—”_ Lance challenges, his voice bursting with intensity. He stays silent for what feels like years before sighing, sinking into his chair. “Just. Let me do this. Ok?” 

Although Keith’s always been too stubborn for his own good, he knows when to concede. “Fine.”  

Lance perks up immediately. “Great. Now, you don’t feel any other symptoms…do you?” 

Keith decides to just go along with it. “My nose is itchy.” 

“Oh!” Hunk claps his hands together. “Maybe you have allergies!” 

“Nah,” Pidge argues. “It’s probably the cure he’s testing.” 

“Sore throat, itchy nose…” Lance props his elbow on the table and leans down to rest his head on his open palm. “If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he’s getting a cold.” 

Pidge snorts. “Yeah. That seems likely.” 

Somehow, Keith feels strangely offended. “I’ve had colds before.” 

“Oh, and by the way,” Lance says as he stands up. “A sore throat isn’t the same thing as tonsillitis.” 

“I knew it!” Pidge cheers.  

Hunk rolls his eyes, grumbling to himself. “Whatever. I’m an engineer, not a doctor.” 

Lance chuckles as he picks up a plate and heaps some scrambled eggs onto it. “We’ll make sure to not take any medical advice from you in the future, Hunk.” He sits back down and, at Hunk's frown, responds with a sly wink.  

As Lance starts to eat, Keith looks down at his own food and realises that he’s made a horrible mistake. What was he thinking, deciding to eat toast when his throat is sore? Eggs would’ve been a far less painful alternative, and since Pidge opted to eat cereal instead, there’s more than enough for him.  

He cringes, taking a small nibble of the bread crust and chewing thoroughly, just to buy some time before he has to swallow his food. The toast already sits on his tongue like wet cardboard, rough and soggy and _bland._ He knows, right then and there, that something is wrong. A cook of Hunk’s calibre could make anything taste good, and toast is no exception.  

His tea has cooled down enough for him to take a sip, and Keith does so in hopes that it’ll help wash the toast down, make it a bit easier to swallow. Instead, it goes down like a mixture of sandpaper, rocks, and glass. He starts to cough. 

“Easy, now,” Lance says, patting his back.  

Pidge holds his tea out for him, and Keith takes it immediately, chugging half of it down. It’s enough to stop his coughing, but his throat feels worse, and his nose itches, and itches, and _itches._ He sniffs loudly a few times but the itch only grows until— 

He sneezes. Loudly, uncomfortably, irritably. He groans and wipes at his face with his sleeve, rubbing his watery eyes and blinking furiously until his vision clears up.

The first thing he notices is that his toast is on fire.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Hunk chants, over and over as if it were a mantra while scrambling out of his seat. In his haste, he knocks over Pidge's bowl of cereal, slips on the now-slippery tiles, and lands harshly on his back with a wheeze. The bowl lands next to him, shattering on impact.

Lance is frozen solid in his chair. He doesn’t move, blink or even _breathe_ until he’s snapped out of it by the blaring smoke alarm. He’s on his feet in an instant, but he takes another look at the fire and freezes up again, hypnotised by the flames. Pidge hurls a spoon at his direction. It hits him square in the chest, effectively stopping his descent into madness.

“Lance!” Pidge screeches. She gestures wildly at the fire. “We gotta do something!”

Lance runs to the sink, skidding over the slippery tiles and side-stepping the shards of ceramic, somehow managing to stay on his feet. He turns on the tap, gathers some water in his hands, and turns to stare at Pidge with a look that screams _and what now?_

“Put it out!” Pidge cries, her voice barely heard over the shrill smoke alarm. She gathers some water in her hands as well but trips over Hunk in her rush to get to the fire. She falls with a gasp, the water in her hands spilling all over the floor.

Lance bites on his lip and thrusts his hands out toward the fire. A large chunk of ice clatters onto the table. He looks down at his hands in alarm and cries in frustration when he sees they’re covered in frost.

As Pidge struggles to get up and Lance frantically tries to pick up a new bowl, only for it to fall from his hands each time, Hunk starts mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like a prayer.

And Keith—the eye of the storm, the centre of madness—sits amidst all the pandemonium in complete and utter shock. His brain short circuits as he tries to piece together all of the events, because there’s no way he just set fire to his toast by sneezing on it. There’s _no way._

Suddenly, a burst of water lands right in front of Keith, and the flames dispel into smoke. There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Keith jolts at the touch.

“Guys?” Shiro starts cautiously, holding an empty water bottle. “Is everyone ok?”

Hunk wheezes again and holds his hand out in a shaky thumbs-up. Pidge almost falls again until Shiro steadies her, guiding her back into her seat.

“We’re ok,” Lance whispers. He laughs softly, trying to dispel the tense atmosphere, and crosses his arms over his chest.

Shiro raises his brows as he takes in the scene. “What happened in here?”

All eyes turn toward Keith, making him shift uncomfortably at the scrutiny.

“I…I sneezed,” Keith says. “And…started a fire…I guess?”

Shiro doesn’t seem _too_ fazed by the revelation, and Keith likens it to the fact that as an ex-guard, Shiro has probably seen weirder stuff at the Institute. Unfortunately, the others in the room definitely don’t share the same opinion.

“You sneezed fire,” Hunk whispers. He’s somehow managed to right himself, but his legs continue to shake, and he’s forced to keep a hard grip on the edge of the kitchen table. “You sneezed _fire_ ,” he repeats in a voice that’s a horrendous mix of fear, shock, and—strangely—awe.

“You’ve never done that at the Institute,” Shiro says. “It might be because of the cure.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Pidge says, voice perking up. She takes her glasses off and blows on the lenses, cleaning off stray dust and drops of water, before putting them back on. “It kind of makes sense, what with the sore throat and all.”

“So…” Hunk shifts uneasily. “The cure doesn’t work?" 

Keith can barely hear the conversation around him; he can only focus on the way his nose and throat itch. He takes a few gulps of what remains of his tea, hoping to alleviate the feeling, but instead it starts to spread down his chest and stomach. When he sets his cup back down, he can feel the pressure build behind his nose, and he barely has enough time to bring his hands up to his mouth before he sneezes again. 

Hunk and Pidge jolt in shock, jumping back to keep as much distance as possible without stepping on broken ceramic or wet tile. Shiro’s face twists in concern, and he makes a move to step forward, but Lance beats him to it. 

A cold hand curls around his wrist and Keith allows himself to exhale. He trembles at the sight of smoke leaving his mouth, like coiling tendrils of burnt hope.  

“Yeah,” Keith mumbles into his hands. “I guess it doesn’t." 

 

* * *

 

In the corner of the lab, Allura and Coran huddle over piles of complicated looking reports, engaged in an intense conversation. They talk quietly, in sharp, bursting whispers, heads ducked down so as to hide their expressions. 

Keith wrings his hands in his lap. When Allura and Coran are this serious, the lab feels eerily like a hospital. The air smells like citrus thanks to Coran’s obsessive cleaning, which only adds to the hospital atmosphere. His nose wrinkles at the synthetic scent. It smells too fake to be pleasant. 

He’s up on the bench again while Lance leans next to him, arms crossed. He’s strangely silent and takes frequent glances at his hands which almost always leave him frowning. Keith wants to ask what’s bothering him, but he doesn’t trust his voice right now. 

Eventually, Allura and Coran walk over, their faces painfully blank. Keith bites his lip. 

“Well, it’s another failure,” Allura says, sighing. “Coran and I will have to go back to the drawing board.” 

“It’s quite peculiar…” Coran mutters.  

“What is?” Keith rasps. 

“It’s nothing to concern yourself over,” Coran dismisses. “It’s just that some of these prototypes are behaving in a rather unpredictable way. We’ll need to conduct more analysis.” 

“We’re sorry,” Allura says with a guilt-ridden smile. “To both of you.”  

“Don’t be,” Lance says, shaking his head. “We know this will take time, so don’t worry and do what you need to.” 

“Thank you for understanding. My father…he was a true genius.” Allura’s smile shifts into something a bit happier in the corners. A bit sadder at the edges. “It’s difficult to try and replicate his work, but I’m sure we can do it.” 

“We definitely think you can,” Lance says gently.  

“Alright, Keith, give me your arm.” Coran loads up another syringe with a clear liquid. “This will make you feel better.” 

Keith rolls up his sleeve and extends his arm. Lance touches his shoulder just as the needle hits his skin. The pain doesn’t register. 

“What’s that?” Lance whispers. Keith doesn’t realise he’s talking to him until he notices Allura and Coran aren’t answering. 

“Neutraliser.” 

The way Lance’s face goes blank tells Keith his explanation wasn’t that great. 

“It’ll neutralise the effects of Prototype 12,” Allura interjects as she gently puts a bandaid on Keith’s arm. Pidge had joked that with the number of injections Keith was getting, they’d soon run out of skin. But now, taking a good look at the bandaids and red patches on his arms, he wonders if the joke holds some truth. “We usually put a few drops into each new prototype we test, so that any old prototypes in his system won’t interfere anymore.” 

“Right.” Lance nods his head slowly. “Got it. Totally makes sense.” 

Allura takes off her gloves and throws them in the bin. “Oh, I almost forgot. Keith, we have some medicine for you. To help with your throat.” 

“Medicine?” Keith frowns. “I don’t need any, but thanks.” 

“Now, now, don’t be so quick to dismiss _this_!” Coran holds up a small, dark bottle. There’s no label on the side, no markings to discern what it is or what it’s for. Keith’s stomach coils. “I made it myself. It’s an old family recipe.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Lance takes the bottle and unscrews the cap. He brings it to his nose and takes a tentative sniff. His whole face seems to collapse, and he hands it to a chuckling Allura. “O-oh, wow. That was intense. Good stuff.” 

“It isn’t the most pleasant to drink, but trust me when I say it works wonders!” Coran boasts.  

“It’s true,” Allura says. “It’s always helped me. And after a while, you don’t even notice the smell. 

Seeing Coran look so proud, Keith can’t find it in himself to reject the medicine. He hesitantly takes it. “Thanks. I’ll…take some later.” 

“Make sure you do!” Coran wags a finger at him in warning. 

“Go get some rest,” Allura tells him. “It’ll help stabilise your power a little.” 

“You guys should rest too,” Lance says. “Take a break from working on the cure. Clear your head a little.” 

The two doctors exchange a look before turning back to Lance. 

“We’re alright,” Allura assures. “Besides, there’s just too much work to do.” 

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Lance whispers harshly into the dark room. “Feeling better?” 

His voice sounds a lot louder in Keith’s ears than it usually does. Keith groans into his pillow, raising a hand and swatting it blindly in front of him, as if he can knock Lance’s voice away with a flick of the wrist. 

He’s been sleeping for most of the day, hoping his throat would get better. No one has disturbed him for the most part, but Lance still made sure to check on him regularly, and to Keith’s dismay, keep reminding him to take the awful medicine Coran gave him. 

“Keith,” Lance whispers again. He starts walking toward the bed Keith’s splayed on, his steps slow and silent. “Take your medicine, ok?” 

Keith’s voice is too hoarse to make anything he says sound legible, but he still tries his best, responding with a garbled—and, admittedly, a little annoyed— _“Fine.”_

“Ok,” Lance says. “I’m gonna take a shower. You better have taken some medicine before I get back, alright?” His tone is chiding in a way that doesn’t feel much like Lance. Keith imagines he’s probably just trying to imitate his mother.  

Soon Keith’s left alone, the only sound his laboured breathing and the water running as Lance showers. He’s lost any sense of time for the whole day, hours bleeding into each other, the sun bleeding into the horizon. He’s been perfectly content with just sleeping the day away, but right now his restless body can only drift aimlessly in and out of wakefulness, refusing to take him any further.  

After a while, it starts getting annoying. Keith sits up, hisses as his head starts to spin, and takes a moment to collect himself. His lips are dry and his tongue feels fuzzy. He coughs into his hand and wearily eyes the medicine Lance left on the small bedside table. Looking around the room, he sees no sign of Lance, and when he strains to hear, he can’t hear anything coming from the bathroom either. Keith could probably dunk some of the gross medicine down the drain before Lance comes back, but lying like that just doesn’t sit well with him. 

With a heavy sigh, Keith takes the small bottle and takes a few sips of his medicine. It goes down smooth in terms of the consistency, but the taste is so bitter it leaves him wincing. He sticks his tongue out and cringes, nose scrunched up and eyes watering.  

Keith makes his way toward the bathroom so he can at least drink some water and rinse his mouth of the bitterness that lingers on his tongue. The door is closed but he doesn’t see any light peeking from the edges, so he knows the room is empty and that Lance already left. 

He swings the door open and just about jumps in shock when he sees that no, the bathroom _isn’t_ actually empty. Lance stands in front of the sink, his hair damp and a towel still wrapped around his shoulders. He’s changed into new clothes, another large hoodie engulfing his thin frame. His reflection in the fogged up mirror is...strange. Pensive. 

The sink is filled with water and Lance has his hand submerged. He’s muttering something under his breath, so concentrated that he doesn’t even hear when Keith calls his name. 

“Lance? Lance!” 

Lance’s eyes widen and he yelps. His body jolts and he pulls his hand out of the water. It’s just as well that he reacted so fast, because the water starts to freeze, ice building up on the surface as if it were a lake in winter. 

Keith rushes over to the sink and turns on the hot water to combat the ice. He heats up his own hand and sticks it over the ice for good measure. 

“What were you doing?” he asks. “If you hadn’t plugged the sink, you could’ve frozen the pipes too.” 

Lance bites down on his lip, his face stiff and hands balled into fists. “Nothing. I was—I was just...” 

Keith exhales slowly and brings his hand back when the ice is under control. “Here,” he says, grabbing Lance’s cold hands in his own. “Better?” 

Lance laughs airily. “I should be the one asking you that.” He pulls his hands back and crosses his arms. “How’s your throat?” 

“It’s ok. Doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” 

Lance nods to himself before facing Keith with a smirk. “You took your medicine, didn’t you?” he asks. “I’ll know if you didn’t so don’t even think about lying.” 

“Yeah, I took it. Stop worrying.” 

Lance raises his hands up in defence. “I’m just looking out for you. Anyway,” he takes his towel and puts it over his head, drying his hair as he walks out of the bathroom. “The bathroom’s all yours.”  

Keith barely has time to reply before the door shuts behind him. “Yeah,” he calls out. “Thanks.” 

 

* * *

 

“Alright, who has my screwdriver?”  

“Not me,” Pidge chirps from her position on the floor. She’s typing away at her laptop again, her fingers moving so fast they almost blur together.  

“Lance,” Hunk says accusingly. “Did you take it?” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “Why would I take your screwdriver? Maybe you’re sitting on it or something.” 

“I’m pretty sure I’d know if I was sitting on a screwdriver,” Hunk deadpans. He sighs, frustrated, and gets up from his chair, momentarily leaving behind the wires and electronic chips and other complicated looking stuff on his desk. “See?” He cries, pointing madly at his now empty chair. “I’m not sitting on it!” 

Stifling a yawn, Lance stretches his arms up. “Maybe you lost it. Or…” he voice drops to a whisper, “maybe someone _stole it._ ” 

Pidge snorts. “Yeah, someone magically snuck in here without us noticing and stole Hunk’s screwdriver, despite the fact that it’s probably worth like, five dollars or something.” 

Keith gets up from where he’s perched on a couple of large boxes. “I’ll help you look for it.” 

Hunk breaks into an easy grin. “Thanks, man.”  

As Keith and Hunk scour the garage together for the screwdriver, Pidge encounters her own problems.  

“Ugh!” She groans, flopping to the side so she’s lying on the dirty floor. “This code is impossible!” 

“What’s wrong with it?” Hunk calls out. He holds up a pile of his textbooks while Keith quickly inspects the area, shaking his head when he still spots no sight of the screwdriver. 

“Won’t compile,” Pidge laments with a sniff. 

Keith really has no idea what she’s talking about. He’d seen a small snippet of her code earlier and had promptly been scarred for life. How anyone can comprehend it, he has no idea. 

“Maybe you’re missing a semicolon,” Lance says.  

With a scowl, Pidge fixes Lance with a deathly glare. “No way. I don’t make such dumb mistakes. And how would you even know? You don’t know anything about programming!” 

“Perhaps I don’t, but I’ve seen you do it enough to pick up some stuff.” 

“He could be right, you know,” Hunk supplies helpfully. He’s on all fours now, desperately scouring the ground while Keith does the same on the opposite side of the garage. He doesn’t pay close enough attention to where he’s going and winces as he bumps his head into the side of Coran’s car. 

“He’s _not_ right!” Pidge snaps. She gets up, furiously pressing the buttons on her keyboard to get her laptop out of sleep mode.  

Lance snickers, peeking at her code over her shoulder. “Alright, so there’s no way you forgot a semicolon. But maybe you forgot a bracket somewhere?”  

“Listen, I’ve been writing code for almost my whole life. There is no way I’d make such an _amateur—_ Oh.” 

Keith stands up, dusting his pants off, officially giving up on finding the stupid screwdriver. “Is it working now?” 

“Yeah,” Pidge whispers. She clears her throat, shrinking in on herself as her cheeks start getting red. 

“You fixed it?” Hunk gasps. He bowls over a pile of boxes, side-stepping as they topple to the floor. He skids to a halt behind her and eagerly takes a look at her code. “What was wrong with it?”  

Pidge mumbles something unintelligible.  

“Huh?” 

She clears her throat. Mumbles again. 

“We can’t hear,” Keith says. 

“I _said—_ ” Pidge starts with a huff. “I…forgot…” her voice gets quieter. “…A semicolon." 

Lance gasps dramatically, long and drawn out. “So, what you’re saying is, I was ri—” 

“Shut up,” Pidge groans, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t say it.” 

“It’s ok,” Hunk says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It happens to the best of us.” 

Lance laughs, wiggling his eyebrows. “You see? I’m not just a pretty face.” He catches Keith’s eye and winks, and Keith…well, he just pretends he knows what they’re all talking about.  

Just as Pidge is about to retort, the heavy garage door opens, and a figure steps inside.  

“So, this is where you guys have been holed up.”  

“Shiro!” Hunk cries in relief. “Listen, I’ve been looking for my screwdriver and I can’t find it anywhere—” 

With a small frown, Shiro walks over to Hunk’s desk. 

“We’ve checked there,” Hunk says. “It isn’t—” 

“You sure?” Shiro picks up a particularly large textbook ( _‘Introduction to Mechanics,’_ it says on the front, and Keith feels a part of him wither) and starts shaking it. Lo and behold, the screwdriver falls out from between the pages, along with a pencil.  

“Oh, my God,” Hunk whispers in awe. He looks at Shiro with sparkling eyes. “You’re my hero.” 

Shiro laughs. “Your desk reminds me of Alfor’s. His would get really cluttered as well.”  

A creak resounds in the dim garage as Hunk sits back on his old, rickety chair. “I know,” he says with a chuckle. “Coran’s always telling me.” 

“What are you guys working on?” Shiro takes a closer look at the circuit board in front of Hunk. “Is this for a school project?” 

“Nope.” With great precision, Hunk takes a few screws and starts to attach the circuit board to the inside of a hollow metal box. “We’re building a robot.”  

“ _We’re_ building a robot,” Pidge corrects, pointing to herself and Hunk. She then gestures between Lance and Keith. “These guys are just here to annoy us.” 

“Uh—hello?” Lance says with a pout. “If it weren’t for me your code still wouldn’t be working.” 

_“Still wouldn’t be working,”_ Pidge mocks in a sing-song voice. 

“We were gonna try fixing Matt’s car, but we don’t have some of the parts needed for it,” Hunk says sadly. “They’re really expensive so until we find a cheap store, we’ll be working on this robot.” 

“You’re working on the robot for fun?” Shiro asks, intrigued.  

“That’s right.” 

“What’s it gonna do?” 

“Oh, it’s gonna—we’re…uh, we were thinking of…” Hunk trails off. “Pidge? Little help?” 

“Um…” Pidge scratches her head as she thinks. “We don’t really have a use for it yet. Right now I’m writing some basic code so it can move around but…we haven’t given it much thought.” 

“Could you put lasers on it?” Lance asks. 

“No!” Shiro shouts at the same time Pidge cheers, “Yes!” 

“Lasers are too dangerous!” Shiro reprimands.  

“Yeah, and what if the robot turns against us and like…zaps us in the eye?” Hunk says. 

“Don’t be a wuss,” Pidge snaps. “That stuff only happens in movies.” 

“And it doesn’t have to be a weapon-type laser,” Lance points out with a shrug. “We could get a toy laser. Those aren’t very powerful.” 

Pidge turns to him, aghast. “How could you say that? If it isn’t a weapon-grade laser then what’s the point?” 

“…Why would you need a weapon-grade laser in the first place?” Keith dares to ask. 

“Isn’t it obvious? You could—” 

Pidge is drowned out by the sound of two overlapping voices, getting closer and closer. 

“—wouldn’t be fair!” 

“I know it isn’t fair, Coran, but at the end of the day we need to consider what the best option is in the long term.” 

“You don’t understand! Put yourself in their position! How would you feel if something like this was hidden from you?” 

“I—well, of course, I would be upset. But that isn’t the main priority! The last thing they need is to be stressed out even more than they already are. If we tell them, there’s a chance that—Oh!” 

Allura’s eyes round in shock as she steps into the garage. She squares her features into a small, rather unconvincing smile, and lets out a nervous laugh. “Hello everyone,” she starts, voice shaky. “How are you?” 

“We’re good!” Hunk answers just as Coran comes into view. His face pales when he catches sight of everyone. “How are you guys doing?” 

“Fantastic!” Coran bellows, over exuberant even for him. He places his hands on Allura’s shoulders, rocking on the balls of his feet. “We’ve been working all day! So busy! We should get right back to it!” 

“Uh, Coran?” Allura says, stiff smile still in place. Her gaze flits around the room, but Keith notices that she’s making an effort to not look toward him or Lance. “We came here to get some supplies, remember?” 

“Oh, yes! Of course!” Coran laughs awkwardly before walking forward, stepping over Lance’s legs and Pidge’s computer to get to the other side of the garage. He starts rummaging, throwing things around haphazardly as he looks for something. 

Hunk winces. “Sorry about the mess. I lost my screwdriver and went kind of crazy looking for it.” 

“It’s not a problem, my boy!” Coran says. He pauses for a moment, scratches his chin, and starts rummaging in another pile.  

“We just came here to get some new beakers,” Allura explains. “The markings on the ones we have now are all smudged off, so they’re a bit useless.” 

“If you need to work in here, we can take this back to my place,” Hunk says. “It’ll be a tight fit in my room but—” 

“No! No, don’t worry about it. You know you’re always free to work in the garage.” 

“Alright, but if you need us to go, just say the word.” 

Keith frowns as the scene plays out before him. Something is weird, and judging from the way Lance’s eyebrows are pinched together, there’s at least one other person that agrees with him. When their eyes meet, a million questions whiz through the air between them, and Lance finally decides that he wants to have them answered. 

“Hey, Allura?” Lance asks in his most nonchalant voice. “What were you guys talking about outside?” 

The reaction is instant. Allura stiffens, face rigid as she opens her mouth but says nothing. A large box topples out of Coran’s grip, but even as it hits his foot, he doesn’t cry out. Instead, he faces Allura with the strangest look, and keeps that same look in place until Shiro comes over to get the box off his foot. 

“Nothing interesting,” Allura says slowly. “You know, just some…boring, uninteresting stuff…” 

With narrowed eyes, Lance folds his arms over his chest. “You sure? Because it kind of sounded like—”

“A-ha!” Coran interrupts. “I’ve found them!” The box he’s carrying rattles with each step he takes, the glass beakers inside it tinkling as they hit one another. “Let’s get back to work!” 

He leaves hastily, gone from the room in an instant.  

Allura laughs airily. “I will you see all later then.” 

“Wait!” Hunk calls out. “Allura! Don’t you guys want to take a break for a bit? Come join us!” 

“Sorry, Hunk.” This time when Allura smiles, it finally seems genuine. “We’d love to, but we really must get back to work.” She turns and follows after Coran. 

“Weird,” Hunk says to himself.  

“They must be overworked,” Shiro says with a worried frown.  

“No wonder they’re acting strange,” Pidge says. “You know, sometimes I stay up all night working on a project, so I know first hand what it’s like to—” 

Keith drowns her out. He drowns everyone and everything out, until the only thing he can hear is the tiny, nagging voice in his head, telling him that something’s wrong, and something bad will happen, because _of course_ it’ll happen, it always happens, _it always happens, it always—_  

“Keith? Buddy?”

With a sharp intake of breath, Keith snaps his head up and sees Lance. “Yeah?” 

Lance stares, gulps, and shakes his head. “Nothing. Just wondering if you’re ok.” 

“I’m fine,” Keith says, speaking over the same nagging voice in his head that tells him he _isn’t._  

 

* * *

 

“Keith? Do you mind turning that down?” 

It takes a moment for Keith to pull himself out of the intriguing world of the soap opera he’s watching. “Huh?” 

Lance lifts his head up from his comfortable position in the corner of the sofa. He’s propped against the armrest, his legs bunched to his chest. There’s a newspaper in one hand and a pen in the other, and he alternates every few minutes between glaring at the paper and sighing. He’s been here the whole day, opting to spend his time like this than to help out Pidge and Hunk with their robot. 

“The TV,” Lance says. “It’s too loud. I can’t concentrate.” 

“Oh.” Keith looks at the remote guiltily. “I can turn it off—”

“No, no, keep it on. It’s just a bit distracting.”  

Keith analyses the remote control closely as he tries to recall where the mute button is. He exclaims softly when he finds it, then quickly turns on the subtitles the way he remembers Coran doing it, and then turns to Lance with a raised eyebrow. “Better?” 

Lance grins and flashes a thumbs-up before turning back to his newspaper.  

“Guys!” Hunk calls from the doorway. “We found it!” 

Lance is too engrossed in whatever he’s doing to even pay close enough attention to him. 

“Uh...” Keith purses his lips. “Found what?” 

Pidge, seemingly out of nowhere, jumps out from behind Hunk, her eyes glowing with excitement. “We found a store that sells cheap car parts! We can finally buy what we need to fix Matt’s car!” 

“ _And_ they have some cool stuff we can get for our robot,” Hunk adds. 

“Like those lasers we talked about!”  

“Alright guys, ready to go?” Shiro breezes past them, heading toward the entrance.  

“Yes!” Hunk and Pidge cry out in unison. They scramble outside, voices overlapping as they chatter away.   

Shiro lingers back for a moment. “Do you guys wanna join us? We’re gonna head to the grocery store after Pidge and Hunk buy what they need, so you’re welcome to come too.” 

Keith blinks rapidly, mouth agape as he thinks it over. “Um...Lance?” 

“Sorry, Shiro,” Lance says with an apologetic smile. “I’m feeling lazy today.” 

“That’s fine,” Shiro says with a laugh. “And you?” He asks, directed toward Keith.  

“Uh...Yeah, me too. I’m—lazy, too.” 

“Well you guys have fun. And make sure to—” Shiro is cut off Pidge’s unceremonious cry of his name. He winces a bit at her sheer volume. “We won’t be too long,” he finishes hurriedly before joining Hunk and an impatient Pidge outside.  

As their exuberant voices fade away into silence, Keith turns back to his soap opera. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but all too soon his eyes are glazed over and he stares at the screen unblinking. The two main love interests in the show are about to kiss, their lips inching closer and closer, and right before they do the screen fades to black and the end credits start rolling. Keith watches on, affronted, before sighing and turning the TV off.  

“Damn it!” Lance cries suddenly.  

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks: 

Lance sighs in frustration, his head drooping back over the edge of the armrest. “This,” he spits outs, turning the newspaper around so Keith can see. 

Keith leans forward a bit and...well, he has no idea what he’s looking at. All he sees is a box with a bunch of numbers inside it. “Oh. I see.” 

Sitting up with a grunt, Lance sighs again. “You know, I used to be good at these. I’d steal all of my dad’s newspapers and work on them with my brother. But now I can’t even solve this _easy_ one!” 

“What is that?” Keith asks. “Some sort of puzzle?” 

Lance blinks rapid fire. “It’s Sudoku. You’ve never seen one before?” 

“I haven’t.” 

For a while there’s nothing but silence. Keith squirms in discomfort, worried that maybe he’s said something wrong, or that Lance will think he’s stupid, or— 

Lance’s face lights up. “Do you wanna learn how to solve it? It’s not as boring as it looks.” He pauses and chuckles. “Well, not for me at least.” 

Now it’s Keith’s turn to blink rapidly. “Sure,” he says. “It seems interesting.” 

Bouncing in his seat, Lance shifts closer and closer, until his entire left side is in contact with Keith’s right.  

“I find Sudoku relaxing,” Lance says, waving his hand around. “It’s always helped me calm down.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, voice strained, because Lance is so close— _too_ close—and it’s stupid for him to get worked up like this because they sleep in the same bed, and it isn’t even surprising anymore when Keith wakes up to find Lance sprawled across his stomach, or curled by his side, but this— 

This is different. Because at night when they’re asleep, any close contact can just be brushed off as Lance being cold and Keith keeping him warm. But now Lance is sitting so close because he wants to, and Keith...Keith wants it too. 

“So, this entire box is made up of nine smaller boxes, as well as nine rows and columns. The aim is to fill each row, column and box with the numbers from one to nine. Simple enough right?” 

Keith’s lips are impossibly dry. “Yes,” he manages to say.  

“Great!” Lance beams. “But! Of course, it isn’t _that_ simple. You can’t have the same number appear twice in any of the rows, columns, or in these boxes.” He gestures around the puzzle with his pen, annotating it with little arrows, or circling certain areas as he talks about them. Upon closer scrutiny, Keith sees that the puzzle is already half done, Lance’s scrawl a messy contrast to the neat, printed numbers.  

As the explanation continues, Lance gets more and more excited, while Keith just kind of loses himself in the way Lance talks, how he makes even the most mundane things seem exciting. Keith is left completely enamoured as he watches Lance’s expression, so calm and serene, yet gleaming with a hint of joy. Gets lost staring at Lance’s profile, tracing the curve of his nose and the flutter of his eyelashes and the smile on his lips; gets lost once and twice and a million times. 

“Alright, think you can handle it yourself?” Lance holds the newspaper out as if it were a trophy. Keith takes it gingerly and smooths it out on his lap. The newspaper is horribly wrinkled, and in the upper corner there’s a brown, slightly faded circular ring, which he guesses is from Coran’s cup of coffee.  

He takes a good while to just look at the puzzle, trying to remember Lance’s long and winded lecture. But it’s difficult to concentrate when Lance is _right there_ , and Keith ends up hyper aware of every single move he makes. 

“Ah!” Lance exclaims after a while.  

“What?”  

“Do you need a hint? ‘Cause I’ve finally figured out what number goes in here.” He points to an empty box. 

Keith huffs. “What was the point of asking if I needed a hint if you just gave it away?” 

Lance shrugs, goofy grin in place. “It’s not like I told you _which_ number goes in there.” 

With a resigned sigh, Keith turns back to the Sudoku puzzle and stares at it until his eyes start to water. “You’re lying,” he declares after a few seconds. “There’s no way you figured out what number goes in there. We need more information.” 

“Fine, I’ll give you another hint—” 

“Boys!” Someone calls from the hallway. “Boys!” 

A flurry of footsteps accompany the voice, echoing off the walls. 

Lance cranes his neck and looks around. “Is that Coran?” 

Keith shrugs, rising to his feet to investigate, when suddenly Coran bursts into the room, panting heavily. 

“Speak of the devil,” Lance snickers, shifting so his feet rest on the carpet. “What’s up, Coran?” 

Coran holds up a finger, takes a moment to cough and sputter as he regains his breath. “Allura and I have some exciting news!” 

Both Keith and Lance stiffen in shock, afraid to even say anything lest they shatter this dream-like reality.  

“You...” Lance clears his throat. “I mean, is it what we think it is?” 

“Yes!” Coran bellows. “We’ve done it! After our long, extensive research, we’ve finally narrowed down all the cures to only one! One final cure which will probably work!” 

“Coran, that’s great!” Lance smiles brightly and nudges Keith’s shoulder. “It’s great news, isn’t it?” 

Keith’s mouth goes dry but his hands heat up and start to sweat. “So...Lance and I will finally be cured?” 

The expectation is that Coran jumps in joy, exclaims in excitement, ushers them down into the lab so that finally they can start their journey to being _normal._ Instead, Coran is strangely...absent. He doesn’t meet their gazes, doesn’t even look up, almost as if there’s something more to it that he can’t say, and that nagging voice in Keith’s head kicks in again. 

“Coran?”  

“Uh...” Coran sighs and pulls at his hair in frustration. “Oh my, oh my. Allura said it’d be better not to tell you, but...” 

“But what?” Keith’s skin starts to prick. His hands are sweating even more now. The voice screams. A vice wraps around his throat and, without even knowing, he’s stopped breathing. 

“There's something we need to explain about the cure. Some... _complications_ have arisen.” 

The vice tightens and tightens and tightens and— 

“What...what do you mean?” Lance whispers. 

Coran’s arms start to shake and he wraps them around himself. He takes a seat on the sofa’s armchair and shakes his head. “Whenever a cure doesn’t work on Keith, we try to figure out which specific chemical caused that reaction. To do this we look at your blood samples, but the problem is, it seems that whatever chemical caused the cure to not work for Keith is different to that for Lance. This cure we’ll test now is the last cure out of all the ones we have that might work, because it doesn’t have any of the chemicals that cause problems for either of you.” 

“Alright...” Lance says, voice laced with confusion. “But can't you just...I don’t know...do _more_ research? Take more blood? Or maybe Keith and I are _supposed_ to have two separate cures?” 

“No,” Coran says, frantically shaking his head. “Alfor insisted the cure he was working on would be universal. It should work for both of you. It’s possible that Alfor changed one of the chemicals he’d used initially. But without his last journal, we have no way of knowing what he changed, or if anything changed in the first place.” He takes a moment to pause, adjusts the cuff of his shirt. His voice shakes when he speaks. “I’m...I’m sorry to say this, but...if this cure doesn’t end up working, we might need to start making a completely new one.” 

Lance raises an eyebrow. “That...doesn’t sound so bad.” He lets out a nervous huff, quirks a crooked smile. “You and Allura can make a new one in no time.” 

“I’m afraid you’ve severely overestimated us, my boy. It took Alfor years to come up with his own cure. Allura and I are going to have to completely start from scratch if we want to figure out where we went wrong. It...it might take us even longer than it took for Alfor.” 

_—and tightens and tightens and—_

 

* * *

 

Keith’s never seen the lab look like this before. The lights are dimmed, the atmosphere thick and pensive. There’s no Coran rushing about excitedly, waving his hands around as he starts rambling about how messy it's gotten. There’s no Lance by Keith’s side, laughing and joking around, sneakily taking glances to make sure he’s ok. Now, it’s just him and Allura and the raging thoughts that plague him.

“It doesn’t hurt too bad, does it?” 

Keith traces the edges of the bandaid on his arm with the tip of his finger, maps out where smooth skin meets rough plastic. “No. Hurts about the same as all the others.” 

Allura smiles tightly. “Alright.” She picks up a pen and clipboard, scribbling down some quick notes. In his peripheral Keith sees the words _Prototype no.34_ written out in neat, curved letters. He doesn’t think about how this might be the last time for a long time Allura will make a note like this.  

“All done,” Allura says after a while, her voice lacking its usual warmth. “Do you know where Coran is? I expected him to be here but...” 

Keith continues to trace the bandaid. “I think he’s with Lance, but I don’t know where. He went looking for him after he…told us.” 

“Lance...must not have taken the news very well.” 

Skin. Bandaid. Skin. Bandaid. “He didn’t.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Allura whispers. “I didn’t want you and Lance to know yet because I wanted to keep you both as stress-free as possible, but Coran didn’t want for it to be kept a secret. We’ve let the two of you down.” 

Trace, trace, trace. “No. You haven’t.” Keith looks up, meets Allura’s wavering gaze. “There’s still a chance this cure will work.” 

“There is. But if it doesn’t work, then...” Allura’s shoulders droop, her head hanging low in shame.  

“Then we will figure out what to do when the time comes. But for now we just don’t know if it’ll work or not.” 

“You’re right,” Allura whispers. “You’re right, Keith.” She pauses here, takes a moment to collect herself. “Thank you.” 

Keith gets up from his chair, ignoring the sudden bout of dizziness. “Don’t be.” He smiles lightly before leaving the lab.  

As he steps into the hallway he hears voices coming from the kitchen. 

“Alright, guys, let's get moving. We need to unload the groceries.” 

“Oh, come _on,_ Shiro! Hunk and I wanted to fit the stuff we got on the robot.” 

“And you can do that after you help with the groceries.” 

“It’s not so bad, Pidge.” Hunk cuts in. “We’ll be done in no time.” 

“That’s right,” Shiro says. “And then you can go and play with your toys all you want.” 

“They’re not toys, Shiro.” Pidge’s voice is low and scathing. “We got lasers, remember? Weapon-grade lasers.” 

“Pidge,” Shiro admonishes. “I told you not to get those!” 

“You said I could!” 

“No, I said you could get the toy lasers, _not_ the dangerous ones.”  

“They’re not _that_ dangerous!” She argues. “They—” 

“Keith?” Shiro interrupts.  

It’s only then that Keith realises he’s been inching closer and closer to the kitchen this whole time, only stopping now once he’s in the doorway. He feels out of place in the room, a dark, negative ball of energy colliding with warmth and light and joy.  

Shiro carefully sets down the bag of groceries he’s holding. “Is everything ok?” 

And it isn’t until Shiro asks that Keith allows himself to admit it. “No.” His voice cracks. “It’s not.” 

“Hey, Shiro?” Hunk says quietly. “Pidge and I will take care of things here. You go on ahead.” He nods gently toward Keith and picks up some groceries. “Here, Pidge. This goes in the fridge, ok?” 

Shiro smiles at them before rushing to Keith’s side.  

 

* * *

 

The fresh evening air is cool on Keith’s skin. A gentle breeze blows his bangs into his eyes, stray hairs tickling his cheeks and nose. He sniffs as his fingers coil around the cold metal railing, his body unceremoniously leaning into it. 

“I like coming out here,” Shiro says from next to him. “I guess I’m lucky Coran let me stay in the room with the balcony, aren’t I?” 

Keith doesn’t trust his voice yet. He nods in lieu of answering verbally. 

Shiro drops his head down a little, seeking to make eye contact. “Talk to me, Keith. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Allura and Coran...told me that this cure might be the last one they have that’ll work. And if it doesn’t work, it’ll take them years to make one that does.” 

The wind picks up, rustling the trees, howling past Keith’s ears, a lone wolf in the dark. But it carries no words or sounds from Shiro. It carries nothing but a harrowing, intangible sense of _pain._  

“That’s...really unfortunate.” Shiro’s voice is barely audible. “But everything will work out in the end. We just have to stay pos—”

“ _When_ will it all work out, Shiro?! _When?_ Is this some sort of karma? Some sort of punishment?” 

Shiro braces himself, spine straightening, as if a better posture will somehow better convey what he wants to say. “Sometimes life just wants to...teach you a lesson.” 

Keith can’t help it; he explodes. “Teach me a lesson? Hasn’t life taught me enough, Shiro? Haven’t I—haven’t _we—_ suffered enough? Don’t—don’t say this is a lesson. It’s not.” 

The wind howls again and this time Keith shivers. He doesn’t want to listen to it anymore, to its message of pain and dread. He takes a gulp of air to distract himself. Tries to keep talking. “If I was the only one here, it wouldn’t bother me so much. I don’t really care about what happens to me. But you’re here, and Pidge is here. _Lance_ is here. It’s not fair to him. He—had a normal life, Shiro.” The wind stops. Keith goes on. “He had a normal life but I took it from him.”  

Shiro sighs gently. “Keith. Did you ever think that maybe the universe is trying to teach you to stop blaming yourself? You can’t keep shouldering so much guilt. It’s not healthy.”

“What else am I supposed to do,” Keith spits bitterly, “when it _is_ all my fault?” 

“Blaming yourself,” Shiro starts with conviction, “won’t help anyone. It won’t help Lance and it certainly won’t help _you._ It solves nothing, Keith.” 

“Then tell me!” Keith cries. The wind picks up again, fans the fire inside him until he feels like his skin can’t contain it. “What do I do? What—what do I—” 

“Hey.” Shiro rubs gentle circles on his back. “Keith. Calm down. We’re all alive. We’re all well. The world won’t end if the cure doesn’t work. No matter what ends up happening, we’ll figure it out.” 

Keith’s lungs ache as he sighs, but it comes out ragged and rough like a gasp. “I said the same thing to Allura,” he admits meekly.  

“And you should stop being such a hypocrite,” Shiro reprimands firmly. “Take your own advice for once.” 

“Do you really think everything will be alright?” He dares to ask.  

_Lie to me. Look me in the eyes and lie to me._

“I do,” Shiro says, his voice full of conviction, sincerity. Honestly.  

Keith looks for a hidden meaning to the words, but he finds nothing—doesn’t even manage to find a lie. 

He picks up a strange scuffing noise coming from the garden down below. Keith’s attention shifts away from Shiro to the two figures he sees in his peripheral.  

“Is that Coran?” Shiro asks, squinting. He lifts a hand up to his eyes to brush a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “Who’s he with?” 

“It’s Lance,” Keith says immediately. His hands tense up, and if Shiro's room wasn’t on the second floor he’d probably vault over the railing.  

Lance has his arms wrapped around himself, his feet kicking up a path of dirt as he walks. If the situation weren’t so dire Coran would probably scold him for that, tell him it took ages to get the garden looking so nice and that he should walk properly, treat it with more respect. But now, Coran looks like he couldn’t care less about the cleanliness of his garden. He walks right next to Lance, head ducked low, mouth turned down into a frown, speaking what’s probably words of comfort. Still, Lance doesn’t seem any better, and Keith hates the fact that even from a distance he can see the tears glisten in his eyes.  

“Go talk to him,” Shiro instructs. “He needs the comfort and...well, you do, too.” 

Keith nods slowly. His hands start getting clammy and he briskly wipes them on his shirt. “But why can I—what do I say?” 

“It doesn’t matter what you say. Sometimes it’s comfort enough to have someone who’s going through the same thing be by your side. To have them listen to what’s weighing you down.” Shiro smiles encouragingly and nods below in Lance’s direction. “It looks like Coran’s about to leave. Now’s your chance.” 

 

* * *

 

Stepping into Coran’s garden often feels like stepping into a completely new world; a kind of fantasy-land that’s steeped in beauty and magic and wonder. Although Keith’s rarely ventured into it over the past few weeks, he’s grown to appreciate it and is more than happy to admire it from his bedroom window.  

But tonight he sees the garden in a new light. It’s somehow dimmer, it’s usual fantastical sheen misplaced. The roses and daisies and other flowers that line the edges seem to droop. The grass isn’t as lush. The pretty cheery-blossom trees—which are, according to Allura, Coran’s biggest pride and joy—are harrowing and spindly, their bare branches imposing. Looming. 

In Keith’s eyes, the only thing that seems to look normal is the pond. And perhaps the reason for that is because Lance is standing by its edge, and it’s impossible for anything to look lacklustre in his vicinity. 

Keith approaches slowly, the same kind of way he used to approach the cute birds in his backyard when he was a child, trying to be as quiet as possible to not scare them away. But that memory is old and fractured, and he’s grossly out of practice when it comes to stealth. He steps on a branch, clenches his teeth when it snaps in two under the sole of his foot. He pauses and waits for Lance to fly away, just like the birds did when he was little. Just like everyone seems to do, eventually, whenever he’s around. 

Lance’s back stiffens ever so slightly. He looks over his shoulder, his expression carefully guarded.  

“Hey.” It’s a lame greeting, Keith’s knows, but it’s the best he’s got. He comes to stand next to Lance but focuses his attention on the pond. “Where’s Coran?” 

Lance shrugs, squatting down near the pond’s edge, peering into it. “I don’t know. I think he’s gone to check on Allura.”  

Keith nods despite the fact that Lance isn’t looking at him. He shuffles his feet a bit, kicks some dust in the air, before joining Lance near the pond’s edge. 

Lance has the hand spread out above the water, his fingers inching close to the surface but never making contact.  

He’s silent for a long time, and Keith doesn’t dare say anything. He just sits there and waits, and waits, and waits until— 

A sigh. Lance’s hand pauses, hovers. “I’m...so confused. I don’t really know how I should feel.” 

Keith takes the words in but as he’s about to respond, Lance beats him to it.  

“I’m just—you know, I keep thinking, maybe if my power wasn’t so unstable, Allura and Coran could’ve figured something out. Then maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

“Lance...” Keith starts, breathless. “This—it’s not your fault.”  

Lance shrugs. He lets his hand drop, fingertips skimming the surface of the water, leaving a thin sheet of ice behind. “No matter what I do,” he whispers, “I can’t control it. I thought I could. I thought I was getting better, but…I’m _not._ I’ve tried so hard to stay calm, tried so hard to keep it together, but…” He grimaces and, in a fit of anger, slams his fist down on the ice. It shatters immediately, and the water beneath spills onto his hand and turns into frost. His frown deepens, but he doesn’t seem surprised.

“You’re doing better than I was when I first got it. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” 

“God,” Lance mutters in frustration. “If I didn’t screw things up and get captured—”

“—that was _not_ your fault, Lance—”

“—then you wouldn’t be in this situation. You’d be cured and”—Lance brings both arms up, waves them around—“living your life, being...normal.” 

“This cure might work,” Keith says firmly. “Don’t just give up so easily.” 

Lance chuckles lightly. Humourlessly. “I can see it in your eyes, Keith. You’re upset about this too.” 

Keith’s throat closes up and he clamps his mouth shut. “Of course I am,” he confesses. “But I’m not upset at you, or Coran, or Allura. I’m upset at the Institute for doing this to us. I’m upset because this isn’t fair. I’m upset”—his voice shakes and he hates it—“that you have to go through this when you don’t deserve it.” 

Lance makes an unintelligible sound, something like a whine or a hiccup caught in his throat. “Don’t say that,” he murmurs, running his hands over his face. “That’s just...” he huffs a little, shakes his head, before settling on a tiny, barely-there smile. 

There’s something in Lance’s expression—something soft, something _vulnerable—_ that makes it so hard to look at him. Keith tears his eyes away, focuses on his arm, pokes at his veins as if it’ll help the cure move along. “It’s—it’s not over. The cure might work. And...if it doesn’t...I don’t know. We can worry about that when the time comes.” A pause. “ _If_ it comes.”  

Lance shuffles back, away from the water’s edge and closer to the lush grass behind him. “Yeah...” 

Keith blinks at him. “You said so yourself, right? We should only focus on the present?” 

“I know,” Lance says. “But I keep thinking about...” 

“What?” 

“If it doesn’t work then what’ll I do? Where will I go? I have a family and they’re waiting for me. If it takes years to make me normal again, does that mean I won’t get to see my family at all until the cure gets done?” Lance’s voice hitches. “Or what will I do if I go to see them? Do I tell them about what happened? They...they’ll look at me like I’m a monster.” 

“They won’t,” Keith insists, voice dropping with clarity, conviction, assurance. “I know monsters, Lance. You’re not one.” 

Lance ignores him. “How will I explain to my mum that I can’t hug her anymore without worrying about hurting her? How can I tell my nieces and nephews I can’t kiss them on the cheek, can’t hold their hand when they get scared? How can I—how can I be a son or a brother or an uncle if I can’t even touch them?” His lip starts to quiver and he tips his head back to stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks. His fingertips are still frosted, but to Keith that doesn’t matter. He takes Lance’s hand and gives it a firm squeeze, crushing the ice fractals with his warm grip. 

Lance startles at the contact but doesn’t pull away. Eyes blown wide, his gaze drops to their intertwined hands.  

Keith’s heart hammers furiously but he doesn’t dare move a muscle. And it keeps hammering away, even when he feels Lance squeeze his hand back. 

“The cure will work,” Keith says. 

Lance gulps, nodding once as a single tear slips down his cheek. “I hope so." 

“It will,” Keith insists. He clenches his free hand, curls it into a fist. 

The cure will work. It has to. For himself. 

For Lance.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! First of all, I want to apologise for taking so long to update this fic. I know that last time I said I'd update more often because I had more free time, but it's like I jinxed myself when I said that, because I ended up getting the worst writers block I've ever had. This chapter was by far the most difficult one to write, and even now that it's done I'm still not 100% happy with it, but I'm honestly just glad that it's finished in the first place. I know it might not be as interesting as the previous chapters but I still hoped you enjoyed it! Thank you all for your patience and your support!! it means a lot!! 
> 
> Secondly, I just want to say that I really do want to get this fic done, and while I can't promise when the next chapter will be up, I will try my best to work on it whenever I can. (Also, if anyone is wondering how many more chapters of this fic are left, I'd say it's around 4-6 more chapters depending on what scenes I decide to put in each chapter)
> 
> and once again, thank you all for reading !! ^^


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